The Malab Stone War
by Ars Arpadok
Summary: Gregor is back in action, with most of his memories and some special training from the Null Arcs. Given his first solo espionage assignment will he be able to crack a ring of Separatist saboteurs and spies? But there's more to this assignment than meets the eye and the very Republic Gregor fights to save may already be rotten to the core. (Sequel to The Knight in Narglatch Skin)
1. Chapter 1

**Authors Notes (Long, feel free to skip):** So, after a much extended hiatus/odyssey I am back, temporarily. I had thought to just give this up and concentrate on my own writing and the translating. But Jonnie says he's fond of this story (which I am certain has nothing to do with his raging egomania, really). So, for him, and for my own sense of closure, I'm going to finish this bad boy off.

Sadly, I think this may be it for me on the fanfiction front for the foreseeable future (alliteration, hurray!) I think we're settled down at last, and have working internet fully 70% of the time now. But there's a lot to adjust to down here in ZA and I am still very much adrift (But at least J's family is all the way on the other side of the country so he's kind of lost in the big city too). Also for my people keeping tabs, we are now fully three weeks married (yes, I know, after almost a decade on and off again) and no knock down fights have yet occurred. Suck on that naysayers, marriage _is_ having a mellowing effect so far.

Anyway, as you can see, I'm slammed and the nomadic lifestyle may resume by the end of the year if the j-o-b with the mining concern drives the old man too crazy. But such is life. Thanks for reading, sorry I took so long to get back to it!

* * *

Murkhana was supposed to be beautiful. Gregor had read all of the briefings and background documents Prudii had scrounged up pre-mission. The word that kept cropping up over and over was graceful. The cities, especially Primaye Murkha, were constantly described as possessing a dark, alien grace. Gregor thought he must still be too young to understand what that meant because Murkhana didn't look a bit beautiful or graceful to him.

It was dark; that was for damn sure. Prudii had told him that the star it orbited gave off light mainly in the ultraviolet spectrum. They'd had to ionize their armor and visors accordingly to deal with it. The cities were illuminated mainly by weak, fluorescent strips attached to the ceilings of dwellings. The native population, who had been living there for a dozen or so generations, had all adapted to the low light and now couldn't stand real illuminations.

That was the cities, which did have a number of tall spires made of some reflective material that seemed to glitter blue in places from the fluorescents. Those might, he allowed during the fly-by, be seen as beautiful by the lonely or the desperate. Gregor and Prudii, however, weren't in a city. They weren't even in one of the bleak little towns along the ice choked rivers at the edges of the industrial zones. They were right in the heart of the North-Central-Mountain Manufacturing Zone and if Gregor had ever seen a less lovely place he can not think of it now.

The heavy industrial pollution of the various factories had long since made this central block uninhabitable by most humanoid species. Only droids worked here now, occasionally inspected by a foreman in heavy protective gear. The clouds belched out by the smokestacks were captured by vast synthsheet-traps and sluiced into chutes to be reprocessed or dumped below the planetary mantle. Prudii was impressed by the efficiency of the system and the way the Murkhanans managed to keep their atmosphere relatively clean of particulates. Gregor supposed he was right. Prudii was one of the cleverest people he could remember meeting, but he still found it hard to be impressed.

"Three-Nine, Three-Nine copy?"

"Copy Five. Hawkbat seven, over."

"Hawkbat seven?" The voice on the com squawked impatiently."Temporal on Hawkbat eight?Over."

"Six. Three-Nine out."

He's running on time. He's got another eight seconds before he needs to be positioned on the far northeast ledge on the top catwalk, Hawkbat eight as he and Prudii have named it. He's displaced from Hawkbat seven, the half-way point between it and his insertion area, and is running for his next point. Prudii's suddenly impatient to get this mission over with and it's starting to annoy Gregor. He likes to be thorough, careful, make sure everything's done properly and completely. Of all the Nulls Prudii seems to be the one most like him in that respect, or at least he did until 0450 this morning.

Gregor had been on the coms then, letting his counterpart get some sleep, when the message came through. It was coded 0-0; Null to Null only. Gregor, being the type of man who respected the privacy of others so that they'd remember to do the same to him, had sent it straight on to Prudii without another thought. Five minutes later the Null was on the bridge in full armor demanding they move the mission timeline up by two hours. Gregor was unhappy but did as he was told; reworking the careful plans three times rapidly until he was satisfied it could be done. Prudii had given it a cursory review and a nod and away they'd gone.

Now Gregor wishes he's at least checked out where that message had come from, or which Null had sent it, even if he would never have read it. Whatever was in it had done a great deal of damage to Prudii's usual methodical demeanor. With an inaudible sigh Gregor makes himself focus on the task at hand. Given the changes he's got to pay twice as much attention now; be sure Prudii's sudden impatience doesn't make him reckless. Whatever was in the message will have to wait.

He crouches on the catwalk at position HB-8 taking care to magnetize the soles of his boots. The catwalk is designed for droids and narrower across than his armored shoulders. He un-slings the new-lightweight sniper carbine Prudii had lent him for this mission and slid it out. The low railing is his stabilizer. He has to wait four seconds instead of two for the fore-droid to zip into his range finder. But his aim is unaffected by the adjusted mission profile. He hits the droid with the minute disruptor slug directly over its rear reactor. The fore-droid stutters and halts, limbs loose and dangling like a cut-string marionette. Gregor slings the rifle and coms Prudii.

"Five, come in Five."

"Five. Status."

"46 down. Proceed."

"About time. Five out."

Gregor rolls his eyes behind his newly polarized helmet visor. He's actually one and one half seconds ahead of schedule. But Prudii's gone off and now it's up to Gregor to make sure they don't miss anything. He blinks the magnets off his boot-soles and runs cat-like and silent to the low door at the end of the walk-way. He doesn't go through, the conduit's too narrow for him to move at speed. Instead he jumps over the railing, catching the walls with his re-magnetized boots and gauntlets to down climb to the floor level.

He can't see Prudii but that's to be expected; the Null is working from the south end of the facility. Gregor sprints to the consol, shouldering the deactivated fore-droid aside. Pulling his data-probe from a thigh pouch he plugs in and starts the override procedure for plant quality control. It's finicky, usually Prudii does this himself, but today he wanted Gregor to try his hand. After more than three months of sabotage work Gregor's reasonably confident he can manage this.

It's taking longer than expected. This facility makes the new model commando droids. It's the first of its kind they've managed to find and Prudii was very, very eager to 'even the odds' as he put it for the rest of the boys in white. Gregor's happy to face the challenge too but the process for assembling the advanced droids is, predictably, more complicated than standard models.

He bypasses three layers of quality control specs, altering them slightly as he goes and swears as he finds an unexpected fourth and fifth level of inspection protocol. He can probably crack the fourth one, it's pretty similar to the third but it's going to take time, more than they have. Worse, the fifth set of inspections is encrypted with something he can't even begin to make out. So much for being able to work solo. Gregor sighs and blinks up his com to contact Prudii.

The crump-thunk of igniting plastoid interrupts him. Suddenly the entire south-west corner of the facility goes white with heat-wash as something explodes. His visor tries to compensate as he drops behind the consol, leaving him momentarily blind. There's a tinkling crash as the first set of catwalks comes away from the walls and falls into the leaping flames. Gregor claws his way out from under the desk, yelling down the coms for Prudii. It's a gut-clenching four seconds before the Null answers. He's breathless and sounds like he's running.

"Three-Nine copy, stop shouting would you? I've already got a headache from that little mishap."

"Mishap? What in _haran_ did you do? I thought we were supposed to be doing this undetected."

"What, you pissed that you didn't get to blow this one up?"

"Ashaye was a mistake."

"What about Trilon?"

"That was Jaing!"

"Regardless Gregor, _ner vod_, you do seem to have a tendency of leaving a burning trail of debris in your wake."

"Where are you Prudii?"

There's a soft thud behind him that has Gregor spinning, pistol drawn. Prudii straightens up and slaps the gun down in a single movement. The blast has taken the stripes off his armor from the thighs down. His boot soles are all but ruined, ridges melted smooth by the heat.

"You're going to get hurt waving that around." Prudii snarls before grabbing him by the elbow.

"C'mon junior the coating's off my armor, at least partially. We have to get out of here while we can."

Gregor digs in his heels, pulling Prudii off balance with his unexpected resistance.

"What the _shebs_? We are going Gregor. I will stun you and drag you out if I have to."

"We can't leave yet."

Prudii un-holsters his blaster and thumbs it to 'stun.' Gregor swallows and keeps going, turning away from the Null and hoping he doesn't get shot for his trouble.

"This has to look like an accident or they're going to tighten security."

"Gregor we don't have time for this, the place is going to go critical in about fifteen minutes. We need to be in the air before that."

"It needs to look accidental." Gregor insists, scrolling through the protocols on the consul as fast as he can.

"I couldn't break the fifth level encryption on the primary assembly array. I got caught by security, why d'you think I had to light them up?"Prudii growls.

Gregor swallows, a little scared that Prudii, of all clones was foiled by Sep security. But he doesn't give up.

"Okay, okay. What about the fore-droid?" He all but shouts.

"What?" Prudii demands, starting to raise his gun.

Gregor dives for the still inactive fore-droid, yanking the data probe out of the consol and jamming it into the droid's main data-port as he does. The chest plate pops open and Gregor starts frantically testing and pulling at circuits. He needs five seconds, three if he's lucky. He keeps working, always expecting the searing cold-heat of a stun blast on his back. But Prudii lets him go.

"There." Gregor shouts, elated.

"What'd you do?" Prudii demands, shouldering him over to look into the chest cavity of the fore-droid.

"Stripped out the main motor control, surge-locked it into the motivator coils and the repetition centers. It'll look like a malfunction, like the fore-droid cracked under radiation decay and disabled the safety feature on the production line."

"Doesn't the production line need to be sped up?" Prudii grouses.

Gregor pulls the data-probe free, rippes off the demotivator slug, and hits a button on the consol. The hum of the conveyors crank up to a scream, then a reverberating moan that has the walls shaking in sympathetic harmony. Prudii nods once.

"Now can we go?" He asks.

Gregor nods back and runs after him through the raining debris shaken from the catwalks by the soundwaves.

The ship's barely in the air when the entire southern face of the factory explodes outward. Inside it looks like a framed view of one of the Corellian hells, the hot one. Gregor's been worriying that his plan to frame the fore-droid might fall apart if an investigator works out that the fire had started before the droid had short-circuited, or if enough of the wiring inside it survived for someone to find the solder joins. It doesn't look like there was going to be a problem though. Nothing's going to survive that blaze. Gregor leans back in his seat and pops his helmet off.

"Huh, I guess all my fiddling was for nothing." He says, trying to calm his still jagged heartbeat.

Prudii's muttering to himself as he powers up the drives and works out their nearest hyperspace egress point. He stops and looks at Gregor for a long, silent minute.

"No that was good thinking. There was no guarantee that the place was going to burn like that until you overloaded the belts."

Gregor shrugs, secretly pleased by the compliment. He's ready to sit in silence for the rest of the outbound trip. Prudii's the quietest Null Gregor's met so far but today N-5 has more to say. He keeps his eyes fixed on the panel in front of him, punching in coordinates as he talks.

"I wasn't all in on this one. I know you noticed so don't say you didn't. It could have gone really badly down there and you kept our losses to a minimum. That's good work. I...I wasn't really sure you had it in you. I mean you're different now, I hear. Better at thinking on your feet, have less of a rod up your _shebs_ but you're still so damned wedded to protocol sometimes.

He takes a deep breath. Gregor waits, trying not to let his pulse rate start racking back up as he notices how distracted Prudii still is.

Anyway, I'm babbling. You did good _ner vode_. Look I've got to com Mereel back. Can you watch the autopilot until we drop in hyperspace?"

Gregor nods, not quite sure what to say to Prudii's outburst.

"Good man. Yell if something changes."

With that he was gone, out of his seat and weaving his way back to the medbay, the only room with a door on the little ship. They hadn't even broken atmosphere yet. Whatever that call was it must be damned important for Prudii to risk a transmission within range of the planetary communications grid. Gregor wants to know very badly what's got the Null so edgy but he's going to have to wait. He's gotten good at that over the past seven months. He settles back in the seat, watching the green lights blink steadily on the panel display.

* * *

Five hours later, two hours after they've dropped into hyperspace, the door to the medbay finally slides open. Prudii's taken off his bucket and has obviously been running his hands through his hair. It's standing up in strange looking ridges. Gregor doesn't have enough guts to point it out to him, especially given that Prudii's usual stoic expression is downright stormy at the moment. He seems almost surprised to see Gregor sitting on the bunk in the main bay cleaning his armor meticulously. Prudii actually stops and stares at the other clone for several seconds. Gregor kept his head down, carefully cleaning the scorch marks off his helmet. Finally the Null stalks to his own bunk opposite Gregor's and sits.

"Hey, lay that down for a second we need to talk." Prudii snaps.

Gregor does as he's told, too interested in what's coming to be annoyed at the tone of the request. He doesn't ask Prudii any questions, letting him order his information himself. It takes a minute but Prudii eventually sighs, runs his fingers through his hair again, making it stand up even more, and speaks.

"Look I meant what I said before about...about everything. You, this mission, you know?"

Gregor lets a little of his impatience out when he answers.

"What, that I'm hidebound?"

"Yeah, also that you made a _shabla_ good call back there and saved my _shebs."_

"What's that got to do with you talking to Mereel. Have I even met Mereel?"

"I don't think so, you'd remember if you did. Even if you got yourself _mir'shupur._ That's beside the point. What I'm trying to say is that it's time you struck out on your own. I was one of the holdout votes on whether or not you were ready but I can see you are now."

"What are you going to have me doing? I haven't got transport even."

"Don't worry about that, we can take care of whatever you need. Right now what you've got to do is head in the Corporate Sector, Kir System, planet called Kirvella. Here's a brief Mereel pulled together."

Prudii passes him his pad. Gregor finds the file and downloads it to his own.

"This is the home planet for Mer-Son Industries." He says after reading a moment, voice slightly amazed. " What exactly am I doing?"

"You're going to infiltrate Mer-Son. There's something strange going on in there. Seps seem to be able to counter their prototypes almost as soon as we get them. And yet they're suddenly a lot more competitive with BlasTech. They're even supposed to be about to get the new contract for armor upgrades for the GAR." The Null answers.

"This doesn't sound like a military intelligence gig." Gregor says in slight disgust "Since when do we do corporate espionage?"

"Since corporations started colluding with the enemy to kill our people _mir'sheb._" Prudii snaps.

Gregor sits back.

"Okay, _undesii,_ sorry. How am I supposed to be infiltrating? What am I looking for? Am I trying to stop this contract with the GAR? Find a Sep agent? What?"

"No, leave the GAR contract. Mer-Son makes some good kit. Our boys'll be lucky to have it. So long as it's not suddenly able to be overridden by insectoids and clankers. Your job is to find the leak. You're looking for any transmission of information that seems under-handed. If someone's trying to hide communication of any kind we need you to tell us. Don't worry about who or what just tell us. We'll sort it out. As far as infiltration goes it doesn't matter how you get in, just that you get as close to the top brass as possible."

"You think this goes all the way to the leadership?"

"Yeah, possibly. Just keep an eye on them, and on the research department, and the production lines for prototypes too."

"What just me?"

Prudii rolls his eyes.

"Come on Gregor I know Jaing and Kom'rk taught you about basic sent-intel processes."

" How long term is this supposed to be?"

"As long as it takes."

Gregor's stunned. He's been chafing a little working with Prudii, the man's prickly and seems to have missed out on the charm that Jaing or Kom'rk display. Gregor's begun to feel comfortable with basic surveillance and sabotage. He's ready to get out on his own. But to be handed what sounds like an important piece of very tricky, long-term intelligence work right off the line is not what he's been anticipating.

"Are you sure about this? I mean shouldn't one of you be doing this?" He stammers.

"We're all busy. This war's ramping up again, if you haven't noticed. There's no one else to put on this. You've got experience living outside the GAR too, you'll work it out."

"I couldn't remember the GAR. I don't think that counts."

"Doesn't matter. You're what we've got and you're on deck. I'll re-route us when we drop out of the first jump. Kirvella isn't that far out of my way. Think about an identity while we're flying. A good one, it's got to last. We've got four days to Kirvella.


	2. Chapter 2

Five days later Prudii shakes Gregor's hand and walks away headed for the space-port and his ship. He doesn't wish Gregor luck, go over any last minute details or bother with a verbal goodbye of any kind. That's simply not how Prudii works.

They'd hit Kirvella yesterday with an apartment and equipment already paid for and step up. Gregor wonders which of the Nulls is responsible for that since the landlady recognizes him and waves from her first floor unit the first time Prudii sends him to the building to check it out.

Prudii'd opted for the much more traditionally dramatic Null style of entrance; rappelling in down the back and climbing in a window. His armor barely fit in said window but the reasoning behind his decision to drag himself through it was sound. Best not to advertise that there were several identical looking men wandering around lest someone put two and two together and get clone.

Once inside Prudii'd done one, last mission brief with Gregor, going back over the general plan, names of the key targets and running through the structure of Mer-Son on Kirvella at about half the speed of light. This mission had been the only thing Prudii was willing to talk to Gregor about in their four day's transit. Gregor knew better than to ask him what else was on his mind, where he'd rather be than here. Had it been Kom'rk or Jaing he might have tried to tease about a hot date or something but Prudii was entirely more forbidding. His mood had only gotten worse as he and Gregor had approached the planet; clearly impatient to be in and out as quick as possible. He'd even refused Gregor's offer of a meal before he left.

Now, as he watches Prudii all but sprint back toward the ship, Gregor's starting to wonder whether it's really that the Null's got somewhere to go. Or if this job's going to be worse than he's been led to believe. He shakes his head. That's pessimism talking. He's got his mission parameters and a job to do. He's been trained for this, by the best in the business. Even if he wasn't the first choice he's stuck in now and he'll manage. He turns and trudges back to his new apartment, shoulders hunched in his, new grey jacket against the starting drizzle.

* * *

The landlady's huddled outside under his porch desultorily tending her half dead plants and smoking a cigarette. She looks up at the sound of his boots on the cracked pavement and smiles. Gregor smiles back, hoping she doesn't expect him to remember her name. Prudii'd neglected to tell him that and Gregor, having never had a landlord who actually wanted to speak to him, hadn't thought to ask. Despite his misgivings his feet stop him in front of the door. The land lady stubs out the cigarette and reaches her hand out.

"Marla Lenko. I think my son rented you the place. I was in the hospital, bad knees. How are you liking it? Here to work at the factory?"

Gregor takes her hand. He's not wholly sure which question he's supposed to answer first. Happily, Mrs. Lenko is essentially Too-Bee the waitress droid's biological counterpart. She's well able to keep her conversation going all on her own.

In short order he's heard about her youngest son, who she loves but who's a lay-about. Her daughter, who should call more now that there's grandkids. As well as the general state of the building, bad, the local economy, good, and the weather, very bad for the knees.

Gregor almost offers to help her oil her joints before he remembers she's not Too-Bee. He lets her follow him upstairs but remembers not to let her into the place yet. There's still about five cubic yards of recording and tracking equipment on the floor as well as his armor in a mesh sack. Also he's got no couch or, come to think of it, bed. He's got great curtains, thick and all the way down to the floor, look like they were stolen from a theatre set or something. He's got the equipment and a mattress on the floor of the back room and that's it. Spartan is the word Prudii'd used to describe it approvingly. Suddenly an idea strikes Gregor; a recon opportunity and cover detail rolled into one.

"Say, Mrs. Lenko?"

"Yes?"

"Do you know where I could find some stuff for the apartment. I...uh..."

"You just moved here for the work right dear? I know, half the block is that way. So many places dried up because of the war but we're doing so well. It almost makes you feel guilty."

"Er..."

There's no real need for him to respond though.

"Yes, a real shame but you're here now. Oh I don't quite know where a young man would go for furniture but why don't you let me call Jarris, my youngest. He'll know just where to go. He's a bit of a…well I've told you but he's a good boy. Why don't you let me call him?"

"I'd appreciate that ma'am."

She giggles and blushes and he sees the young woman she'd been. He smiles as she wanders back to her plants talking to herself about nice young men with manners, from a good family obviously. If she only knew. He turns and unlocks the door to his new home.

It's two days before he hears from Mrs. Lenko about Jarris. In that time he's managed to do both pretty well and terribly at the same time. He hasn't realized that combination was possible until now.

He's hauled all of the bulkier recording and processing rig Prudii dumped off with him into the "office" which really seems to be a large closet across from the bathroom but it's got a door with a lock. The little stuff, the small transponders, the bead-coms, the button cameras he's tucked away in the "bedroom." He's only got two sets of clothes, one of which he's already carefully wired so there's no point in using those until he's got a reason to. He'll only use the rest of the little stuff once he's actually got a job. Until then he keeps them carefully tied up in a blue and green transper-silk scarf he'd picked up two missions back. He's going to give it to Thena when he sees her again but for now it's serving a more practical purpose.

Once he's finished he realizes how empty the place really is. He realizes it bothers him, more than he thinks it should. He's got two plates, one pot and a flat griddle thing that appears to be about as old as the building as well as an assortment of mismatched cooking utensils. He doesn't need more than two towels really and the mattress isn't bad. But the sheer amount of space on the floor gets to him, makes him jerk awake at every strange sound. It looks like a mildly advanced droid lives here. One that doesn't need to sit down at all. He wants a chair or something. Maybe a couch and a table to stick in front of the built in vid-screen. It's not like he's planning on putting down roots but he finds wants this place to look like a human habitation.

To take his mind off the depressing lack of seating he hones his persona. He's still Gregor, nobody but fellow clones and residents of Abafar know him as that so he feels safe enough using it. Better to stick close to the truth on his first time out. He picks the surname Tahy in honor of old his old sergeant Wad'e, where-ever he is. He messes with the spelling so it's nondescript, forgettable.

Prudii told him he's to pose as a clever shift grunt. Someone who's reliable and smart enough to be trusted to make and test prototypes but more genial than genius. There's a couple of openings in the local proto-type test department that he's been instructed to apply to. The Nulls are convinced the leaks coming from that part of the company and want him as their fly on the wall.

He's not sure what to do about his accent so he decides to just tell everyone he grew up on Concordia, worked in the ship yards there until they shut down when the New Mandalorians declared neutrality and were cut off from legally trading with either the Republic or the Separatists.

No, not the Separatists, the Confederation of Independent Systems that's what they call themselves, he has to remember that. He's got to have no visible politics, except that he thinks neutrality is a damned bad idea, economically speaking. His family died when he was a boy and he's been working ever since. Not too far off the truth, just different in some of the details.

Prudii had told him to slouch more, try to take up less space, look less like a soldier. Gregor can do that, though he struggles not to slip into his meek dish-washer guise. Even if he's trying to be nondescript he needs to be personable enough to build his network. He stops shaving, starts letting his hair grow out; doesn't slick it back as much. He rehearses everything ; from his back story, to the way he walks over and over until, by the time Mrs. Lenko calls to see if he's free tomorrow afternoon to meet her Jarris, he's pretty confident. He agrees to come down to her place for tea the next afternoon.

* * *

Mrs. Lenko obviously wishes to be thought of, or maybe to think of herself, as the kind of woman who regularly has people to her home for tea. Unfortunately for her, as well as her guests, her main touchstone for how one has tea with guests appears to be decades old vids. Thus Gregor, Jarris; who looks just a sloppy as his mother described but is indeed a friendly young man, and Mrs. Lenko all sit down at a round table in the center of the apartment's main room. It's been laid with a delicate, flowery teapot, equally flimsy floral print cups and a tray of iced cakes and elderly looking finger sandwiches.

The tea is scalding and already sweetened. Gregor likes it well enough, though he wishes it were a bit stronger and came in a bigger, sturdier mug. Mrs. Lenko obviously bought the food in anticipation of company, probably some time ago. Gregor tries a cake, rock hard now, and gives up after a moment when he can't come up with a polite way to dunk it into his tea and hold it there until it softens enough to be edible. Jarris plows stolidly through four sandwiches while Mrs. Lenko beams and tries to bustle around in a matronly way. She has some trouble there too since the room in which they're sitting was obviously hastily rearranged to fit the table and there's very little room to maneuver.

Mrs. Lenko dominates the conversation, asking inane questions about Gregor's background, how he finds Kirvella and so on with hardly a pause for him to answer. It's so bad that Gregor's starting to wonder if she wrote all of these conversational gambits down before hand and has been practicing them. He smiles ruefully into his tea cup at the thought as he's been doing much the same upstairs. Finally he and Jarris succeed in draining the teapot, which holds far more liquid than one would think looking at it. Mrs. Lenko races off to the kitchen to get more.

Jarris leans back, sighs and pulls out a brown cigarette. He doesn't offer one to Gregor.

"Sorry about all this." He drawls, lighting up and taking a long drag.

"She's not really sure what to do with herself now that she's retired."

"She worked for Mer-Son?"

Jarris nods, pulling on the cigarette until the tobacco sparks and breathing out a dense cloud of smoke when he answers. It distantly reminds Gregor of tough guys on holo-vids; it's probably supposed to.

"Pretty much everyone here works for Mer-Son or one of the preferred contractors. I hear it's different in the southern hemisphere but here it's all Mother."

"Mother?"

"Sorry, yeah. Mer-Son, everybody calls it Mother. Don't ask me why, it started before my time."

"When did she retire?"

"Oh last year, though she works part time for Soveil, one of the contractors. She was the assistant to the Deputy Head of Research for like forty years but he died a while ago and it was time for her to go out to pasture anyway. Say are you really from Concordia?"

Gregor tries not to shift uncomfortably as he lies.

"Yeah."

"See any Mandalorians while you were there? I mean the proper ones in armor?"

If only you knew thinks Gregor. He says.

"No, those ones don't really come around to the colonies I think. Why, have you seen any?"

Jarris laughs.

"No not me. I've heard about it. One or two of the guys on the line swear blind they've seen one."

"Around here?"

"No way. Nothing ever happens around here."

He sounds disappointed. Gregor feels relieved. A quiet post for his first solo mission sounds exactly right.

"But I thought this was the research sector? That's why I came. I heard there was good work on some cutting edge stuff. I've always wanted to do that. Aren't you involved with proto-type testing?"

It was a ridiculously obvious cast for information. But Gregor's still new to this. He's never actually built a network himself and, he reasons, it's probably better for him to come off as naive than cunning right now. The gamble pays off. Jarris shakes his head.

"Force man, you sound like Hui, the floor super on my shift. He is convinced that we're doing the most important, fascinating things in the galaxy. Mostly it's testing the same five parts about a hundred times over and writing down results."

"Beats what I was doing." Gregor answers, trying to keep the conversation going.

"What was that?"

"I worked in a diner for about a year after I left Concordia. Worst job I've ever had."

"Must have been if you want to be a test cog here. I wonder why they don't just use droids."

"Because droids are incapable of the careful reasoning that a sentient is." Mrs. Lenko answers smoothly as she glides back into the room with the freshly refilled teapot.

"Droids are also inherently untrustworthy. They can be hacked. You can't."

Jarris shrugs.

"I don't use my higher reasoning skills on the job much mother."

Mrs. Lenko is too polite to say something nasty back to her son in front of company but the reprimand's clear in her eyes. Gregor grabs a sandwich and crams it into his mouth to keep from smiling. He regrets his impulsive move a moment later when Mrs. Lenko speaks to him.

"Gregor, did I hear you were planning on joining Testing?"

Gregor nearly chokes on the stale sandwich trying to answer.

"Uh, I mean. Yes ma'am that's why I settled in this sector."

"Well why don't you wave me your CV dear. I've still got some contacts in the company. Maybe I can help you get a position."

Jarris smiles fondly at his mother.

"She got me one after all," he adds.

Mrs Lenko rolls her eyes and hands him a cake.

"Jarris I think poor Gregor's traveling light. Why don't you take him around and help him get furniture?"

"Oh no, that's not necessary ma'am." Gregor interjects.

Jarris seems like a dead-end and he doesn't need him tagging along on area recon.

"I'm sure Jarris has other responsibilities." He continues, trying to cover his discomfort. "But I wouldn't say no to a listing of places where I might find some reasonably priced goods."

Jarris smiles, looking relieved. He clearly wasn't relishing the idea of squiring around his mother's new neighbor. Mrs. Lenko frowns momentarily but eventually remembers that she's supposed to be the unflappable hostess and titters.

"Of course, of course. Jarris you can do that can't you? I 'm sure I wouldn't know where to find a stick of furniture that's not covered in chintz."

Jarris nods dutifully and Gregor tries not to smile too hard as he notes her elegant bantha hide sofa and sleekly chromed lamps rammed against the walls.

* * *

Jarris is actually more than helpful with the list of shops. He even draws an appallingly scaled map of the district and highlights where they are with bright hash marks. Gregor carefully marks them on his own scrupulously accurate, Prudii-provided map of the area.

He stops in at the second hand shop nearest his new home and picks up an elderly sofa and matching chair in an indeterminate shade of spotty green, mainly because they smell clean. He also purchases a folding table and chairs, flimsy but good enough to eat off of. He thinks about a bed but opts for a simple low pallet instead. It's cheaper and there's something that feels oddly permanent about a bed frame to him. He's not ready for permanent yet.

He signs off on delivery forms for all of his purchases, assuring the suspicious looking salesbeing, a very formidable Duros matron, that he will certainly be at home tomorrow between nine in the morning and three in the afternoon to take the furniture. She eyes him ferociously but eventually gives in when he offers her five percent more than the usual delivery fee.

He wanders back out into the tentative sunshine and starts to stroll. He's feeling better; barely wanting to check behind him every ten feet. He plays a game with himself to keep his good mood going; trying to note down the location of likely cafes, com kiosks and refuse bins for meetings and dead drops without seeming to do so.

This sector of Kirvella's been reaping the benefits of the industrial boom, obviously. He can't recall ever seeing so many clean shops, doors flung wide, windows bright and full of a dizzying array of goods. There are cafes and restaurants and taverns and diners and cantinas all with patios out of which smells of cooking some enticing, others alien run.

And people. There are dozens of people. Gregor's been to Nar Shadda now, he's seen Ixos Ri and the Shadow Port. All were choked with sentient creatures of every description in every state of dress and cleanliness. He hasn't ever seen flocks like this though. Clumps of people, a few couples, some groups but mostly individuals who stroll along amongst each other but never touch or jostle. No one shoves or shouts or runs. There's no street peddlers or whores or thieves out that he can see, just clean, shiny people strolling and chatting.

Prudii'd warned him that some of these near-industrial sectors were like this, kept small and quaint seeming to make the workforce feel better off than they were. Still, it was another thing entirely to hear about it and then to see it for oneself. His unease creeps back in as he realizes he's out of place. There are few single males in sight. He supposes they must work during the day. These are the hours for the partners and children and the pensioners. A number of the women smile at him. He glances at his boots and feels his ears go hot. More of them smile at him after that. Some of the greeters in front of the eateries wave at him, calling out special discounts for new comers.

_So that's what I look like_. He thinks. _It's that obvious_. It doesn't matter he tells himself. In fact it was probably a good thing. New arrivals were obviously expected, given the booming plants at the edges of the sector that exhaled vapor into the air to filter the sunlight. So he'll only be a novelty for a little while and then someone else would come and be the fresh arrival. Reassured, he decides to take advantage while he can.

He pauses in front of a ruffle curtained shop that appears to sell nothing but painted china urns and odd water colors. The matronly woman sitting in a vast wicker chair in front of the door smiles at him.

"Can I help you?"

"Yes ma'am. I'm new in town." He rubs the back of his neck to give himself a moment to collect his thoughts. "I haven't started at Testing yet and I was trying to see...that is...is there a park nearby?"

"It's a bit warm out on the street isn't it?" She asks sagely. Gregor hasn't noticed really. His body still remembers the convection oven temperature on Abafar. He nods though.

"If you go down two more blocks and turn to the left there's Hiro Park at the end of the lane. You can't miss it. See those trees?" She motions vaguely behind her and to her right.

Gregor follows the sketched trajectory, see's a dark green mass rising through the soft smog. He nods.

"Yes ma'am."

"There it is. It's not as fashionable as it was but so green."

"Thank you ma'am."

He bows a little before he can stop himself. The woman winks at him. He feels his ears heat again and walks away as quickly as he can without seeming rude.

He understands what the woman meant when she said it was green. In truth the park is slightly overgrown. He suspects it's probably because the factory stacks are so close. The CO2 does great things for plants but the smell of the rest of the fumes isn't exactly nice. There are probably parks on the east side of town, away from the factories that are more populated. He thinks he saw a number of women with buggies and small children in tow heading down that way. He'll look into it later maybe, good to know where the locals go.

For now Hiro Park is just what he wants. Small, dark with the trees and creepers, and backed right into the south wall of the main factory, the one very Jarris and his mother are supposed to be putting in a good word for him with the shift supervisor right now. There's even a door on the other side of a locked gate leading into the building. He pulls out his 'pad, checks around surreptitiously for anyone else in the place, cameras or maintenance droids; there's nothing. He pulls up Prudii's map and marks Hiro as his dead-drop.

He wanders around for half an hour longer, getting to know some of the trails, idly wondering what to do next. Worrying a little that Jarris will flake out on him. His com goes off. He stops and thumbs it on.

_-Ma came through. Come in tomorrow, end of shift. Ask for Hui._  
_-J_

Gregor grins and suddenly feels both light and very tired. End of shift is around five so he'll still be able to meet the delivery crew before that hopefully. He needs to get his gear together and be tip top tomorrow. He needs into Testing or this mission's going to run very short.

But that's tomorrow. Today all he wants is sleep. He hasn't had much since he and Prudii banged out of Murkhana. Once he's rested then maybe he'll head back out and get something to eat. He wanders home by a different route, trying to note the shops and landmarks along the way. By the time he drags himself up the stairs to his flat his eyelids are actually drooping. He almost forgets to lock the door. The mattress on the floor in his dark little bedroom is heavenly.


	3. Chapter 3

And now the re-introduction of some of the characters born in The Knight in Narglatch Skin.

Enjoy

* * *

The furniture arrives at eight am, exactly. Gregor wakes up to a hammering on the front door that has him pulling his blaster from under his pillow and leaping for cover. He remembers where he is and why simply shooting through the front door is a bad call seconds later. He stashes the gun in the washroom, closing the door carefully, and answers the knocking.

The pair of Gan movers give him flash backs to Beerkin's stinking bar. He almost grabs his gun again. He reminds himself that this isn't Abafar; makes himself breath slowly and step back to let them in. The haul the couch in in silence, fetch the chair and the pallet. He doesn't want to let them into his bedroom but the palate's too big for him to move alone. He follows them every step of the way; watches them lift his mattress, drop the palate and dump everything on top of it. It doesn't even occur to him to be embarrassed by the messy sheets. They bring in the table and chairs and prop them in the kitchen. Gregor's relieved when they leave. He pretends not to notice the bigger one extending a hand for a shake or a tip. They stalk out muttering in barely audible voices about newly dusted-down cheap-skates. He can't find it in himself to care.

He's slept for more than half a revolution, fourteen hours nearly. He hasn't eaten anything since Mrs. Lenko's finger sandwiches and his kitchen is both empty of food and full of furniture. It's time to dip a little farther into his cred fund from Prudii and get something to eat. He decides to use it as another opportunity to suss out the city and its people before he begins serious infiltration work. He steps out onto the street, waits a moment until a tight group of shift workers in sturdy trousers and boots pass by. He follows them.

It's a big place called the Royal Inn. He remembers something from the briefings about Krivella having a monarchy two standard Centuries ago. There's still streets with names like Duchess and Prince around the place like friendly ghosts. The Inn, which he thinks is a slightly confusing name for a restaurant as it doesn't appear to have any rooms for people to stay in, is packed. The work force, majority male and either human or near to it crams into booths four or more at a time. The counter's standing room only. Everything is spotless, the tables are cleared in seconds by bus-droids and all of the wait staff is young, female and good-looking. There are at least three cooks that he can see back in the kitchen and the orders, enormous plates of eggs and meats, are flying out.

He smiles to himself. Borkus would have murdered his own offspring for a place this packed. It's a bit of a grim thought but it keeps him feeling detached, professional even as his stomach whines at the scent of cooking oil and salt.

Since he's alone he chooses the counter, pushing politely in between two old men who are eating in silence. Each nods to him and returns to shoveling food into his mouth. Gregor wonders how he's supposed to order when a red headed human girl appears as if by magic in front of him.

"Hi there. What can I get you? Caf?"

"That'd be great. Water too?"

She smiles, slaps a menu down in front of him and vanishes. Gregor picks it up just as one of the old men finish their meals and simultaneously leave. Neither one speaks. Their places are immediately taken by a pair of men, obviously friends who are having a loud conversation about either a sports team or the disposition of the pep squad of said team.

"Pathetic. I could have run it down the field faster than that."

"But it was worth it to see them bouncing wasn't it?"

"Too much bouncing. It distracted him."

"Maybe they ought to move them to the other side of the field. Distract the other team."

"There's an idea."

They pause the discussion as the red-headed waitress rematerializeswith Gregor's drinks. She plunks down the mug. The respite in the argument last long enough for each to place drink orders to the girl. She nods absently before turning back to Gregor with a flirty smile.

"D'ya know what you want?"

"Er. What's good?"

"Everything's good." She laughs, tossing her hair as much as the tight space allows. Gregor glances uncomfortably at his menu. Surprisingly the man to his right, the sports fan, rides to his rescue.

"Easy there Parli, you're scaring him." He's got a gravelly voice, lived in voice, Gregor notes. The waitress grins at him and says that she'll be back in a minute before shifting along the counter to take another patron's order.

"I haven't seen you on shift. You new?" asks the sports fan.

Gregor nods.

"Yeah, just came in from Concordia a few days ago." He answers, feeling almost comfortable with the lie.

"You looking for R&D testing work?" Asks the other man. Gregor's labeled him Mr. Bounce for his avid devotion to pep squadettes.

"Yeah. I did some for MandalMotors. It was good."

Mr. Bounce and the sports fan nod gravely to that.

"Mandal was a good outfit. Not really in our league but I saw some of their stuff at a craft show once. Aggressive innovation."Says Mr. Bounce.

"That's the motto." Gregor replies, trying not to sound worried. He wasn't expecting this kind of expertise over breakfast.

"So why'd you leave?" Asks the sports fan.

Gregor shifts in his seat, trying to calm down. He can do this. He just needs to be more like the diner hump version of himself. These men are just making conversation, everything's fine.

"Hey, sorry. I didn't mean to push man." The sports fan says raising a hand. Gregor realizes they're worried about offending him. He relaxes fractionally.

"No, it's okay. The war stopped production. I've been doing odd jobs, traveling. It's not all that great."

"I can imagine."Replies Mr. Bounce with what sounds like real sympathy. Gregor's not sure what to say to that but the waitress, Parli, chooses that moment to scoot back to them.

"Ready now?" She asks.

"Uh, yeah. I guess. I'll have the special for today?" Gregor punts.

He has no idea what that is but he hasn't had a chance to really look at the menu.

"Great." Parli purrs. "And you two? The usual?"

"Just right babe."Answers the sports fan. The waitress rolls her eyes in a friendly, exasperated manner.

"Watch it old man. I'll tell Maka you're being fresh." She says but smiles immediately to take the sting out of the comment. Mr. Bounce laughs at his friends abashed face. The sport's fan raises his hands in mock surrender and Parli turns briefly back to Gregor.

"You need a top up?" She asks.

"Yes, ma'am. Thank you."

"Right away." She gives him a dazzling smile and winks at the other two men, "That, gentlemen is how you talk to a lady." She laughs, and she slides away to drop their orders off with the cook. The sports fan and Mr. Bounce both laugh along.

"You're good, friend," chuckles the sports fan. "I bet she'd even give you her com-code if you asked."

Gregor shrugs.

"Nah, I'm taken."

He flinches inwardly as he says it. Damnit what made him say that? But neither of the other two seem to notice his discomfort.

"Oh, ho, there's the secret Kai." Says Mr. Bounce.

"You've got to act like you don't want it. Yeah, yeah."The sports fan grouses.

But Mr. Bounce isn't listening he's eyeing Gregor carefully. Gregor feels his underarms start to sweat. He pretends he can't, counts silently in his head, starts listing Mado'a words he'd relearned over the past ten months. Finally Mr. Bounce speaks.

"So you're looking for work and, since you're eating here I assume the little lady is still back on the home-rock. You want to move here permanent or are you just passing through?"

Gregor takes a sip of his freshly filled caf, trying not to burn his tongue. His instincts are telling to snap that it's none of the man's business but he's supposed to make contacts. He breathes out the tension, making the motion into blowing on his caf.

"I'll stay anywhere I can get decent work again." He says neutrally."This place seems pretty good."

"You think your woman'd like it here?" Asks Mr. Bounce. Gregor tries not to but he can't help thinking about Thena browsing in one of those shops, about how quiet his apartment is at the moment. He nods.

"Yeah, probably. Why do you ask?"

It's a risk. Prudii'd told him that the best way to get good intel is to try and be passive, let the mark give it away on their own, don't lead them. But Mr. Bounce is getting a little close for comfort. It seems best to throw him off a bit. Mr. Bounce smiles.

"You got me there son. I'm just nosy by nature. We don't actually have that many guys coming into this sector, not permanently. Most of the new comers live here but work over in Fabrication, across the river. I know Jaris, he mentioned his Ma had a new neighbor from one of the Mando colonies. I heard the accent and put it together."

Gregor's underarms are sweating harder. He works to keep his face blank.

"Really?" He manages hoping he sounds natural. "I keep hearing how there's such a boom on here."

The sports fan shakes his head while Mr. Bounce continues.

"Yeah but Testing's always been kind of a closed circle."

Gregor tries to ignore the panicky feeling churning in his gut. Tries to ignore the voice in his head screaming that something's gone wrong, that he's about to give himself away. He stays still, says:

"Oh?"

"Yeah, it's not so great actually, in my opinion." says Mr. Bounce.

"We've been getting sloppy. You heard about the failure that cost us the initial Army contract?"

Gregor nods. That had been in the brief.

"Yeah well, that was the old guard screwing up. We've got some new management and now, hopefully, we'll attract some new blood on the line too."

Gregor shifts uncomfortably in his seat. Is this normal? Do civilians just hang around in diners and say things like this to one another?

"Hey I'm just looking for a job." He finally mumbles. The sports fan grins at him.

"Crent's got a big kriffing mouth don't he kid?" Mr. Bounce, Crent, looks a bit sheepish. But then he shrugs.

"Yeah, well. Did you really do this type of work for MandalMotors?" He asks.

Gregor has a sudden insane urge to say 'that's what my file tells me.' He suppresses it; nods instead, drinking more caf to keep from having to speak too much. Crent grins.

"And you settled down just where Testing was based. Was that intentional?" Gregor nods. It was, in more ways than Crent could know.

"That's good thinking. We need that kind of thinking that on the line. I was a little worried when Jaris mentioned you, some of his friends haven't been the best in the past, but I think I was wrong about you. You're talking to Hui after shift today right, around sixteenth hour right? I'll put in a word."

Gregor blinks, surprised at how easy this is coming his way.

"You don't have to do that. I mean I don't want special favors."

"Don't worry. You don't owe me anything. Like I said, I like the look of you."

"And he gets a bonus if you stay three months." Points out the sports fan. Crent roars with laughter.

"Yeah, that too. My motives are selfish. Does that make it better?"

"It does actually." Gregor replies but he tries to soften the phrase by smiling. Crent grins and slaps his back.

"Good man."

Gregor doesn't know how to respond next but the efficiency of the short order cook saves him the trouble. Parli drops a heavily laden plate of fried carbohydrates and eggs in front of him. It smells salty and wonderful. Gregor glances at the sports fan and Mr. Bounce but they're absorbed in their breakfasts as well. Relieved, Gregor digs in, musing on bizarre coincidences and possible good luck.

* * *

He walks more after the factory whistle calls the occupants of the diner in for the start of the shift. Parli has, in fact, tried to slip him a com code scribbled on the back of the bill. He pretends not to notice it; half out of general bewilderment half out of guilt. He also pretends not to notice her annoyed look when he returns the bill without taking note of the number. Clearly he'll have to dine elsewhere in future, somewhere staffed by droids maybe.

He's still tired, jump lagged, and doesn't manage much more than an hour of slow strolling. He does find the second park, which is much larger, brighter and prone to be populated with friendly, curious families. He doesn't stay long. He also stumbles across a commissary; grocery he reminds himself, they're called groceries in the outside world, and buys as much shelf-stable food-stuffs as his almost exhausted cred supply allows. It'll probably be best to maybe eat in for a few days until he's better rested and more firmly in character. Then he goes home, sets an alarm on his com and collapses for more sleep.

He wakes up comfortably before the alarm which gives him enough time to shower properly. He again debates shaving for a few minutes. In the end he decides to trim his hair but leave the beard come in. It helps him feel more like a civilian. Despite almost losing the tip of an ear and giving himself a nasty, thin cut along the back of his neck he achieves a decent, nearly even trim on his hair. He has to wait until the cut on his neck scabs up a bit before pulling on a fresh shirt but he still makes it to the factory with ten minutes to spare.

He debates walking back around Hiro park but decides instead to sit on one of the shadier benches to wait for the shift change. The day's getting hot again and there are several people who seem to be heading in the direction of the shade offered by the park. Gregor wants to be alone for as long as possible. He wants to re-rehearse his story until it's second nature. He's still worried he'll slip up somehow. So he sits on the bench trying not to mutter out loud as he rehearses his story one more time. He jumps very slightly when someone else sits down next to him, then tenses and makes to leave. The last thing he needs at the moment is conversation.

"You are almost bad at this. I'm worrying like I'm somebody's mother about you. I don't know what Prudii and those idiots were thinking dumping you on your own like this." Hisses a familiar voice.

Gregor barely manages to not hit the speaker. After three deep breaths he turns and stares at Jaing. He hopes in the back of his mind that any passersby will think everything is normal.

"What in all _haran_ are you doing here?" He snaps "I thought you were busy in Bakura."

Jaing gives a slightly odd smile, the skin at his eyes pulling tauter than usual, like he's tired or trying to seem more cheerful than he really is.

"Finished early and then I got, almost simultaneously mind you, a message from Prudii saying he was flinging you into deep water and another from a mutual friend of ours who was in a bit of a bind."

Gregor shakes his head.

"I'm fine and I don't want to know what Kom'rk has gotten himself into. I'm sure your rescue was very heroic."

Jaing frowns.

"Of course you're fine. I trained you, even if you're still re-grounding some of your wires. I wouldn't be here if you weren't anyway."

"Oh?"

"Yeah, you wouldn't have seen me before I black-jacked you and pulled you out."

"So nice to have people looking out for me."

"Don't start. You know what this is."

"What are doing here then? If I'm fine that is."

"I need your help."

"I'm working."

"Not yet, but you will. That friend of the foreman's all but asked you out didn't he?"

Jaing flashes that fake grin, then seems to think better of it. The expression vanishes off his face like it was never there. Gregor tries not to be unnerved by the Null's behavior.

"I do need your help and you don't have to leave. You do have to be extra on-game though." Jaing says at length, voice low and tight.

"Can I turn you down? Is there any other way for you to help Kom'rk? I'm not sure how much more I can manage, honestly. I'm sorry Jaing."

"Don't be _vod_. Honesty is best and I can do this without you if I have to. I just wanted you to have first refusal."

"What are you talking about? I've got an interview in eight minutes Jaing, please spit it out."

"It's not Kom'rk. It's the girls."

"The girls?"

"Your girl and her friend, our girls, whatever they are. Thena and Mi."

The heat of the day evaporates off of him. His stomach takes a sudden swan dive toward his boots and there's a black rim at the edge of his vision. Thena gotten into some trouble she can't get out of; in over her head and he's stuck here. He forgets the mission, his cover; barely manages to keep from grabbing Jaing.

"What happened, where are they?"

"They're okay, for the moment. _Undesii_, let me talk."

Jaing looks alarmed and uncertain. Gregor can't tell if it's because of what he's about to say or if his own outburst has unnerved the other clone. He tries to care for a moment, tries to get his head back in the game, on the mission, but only partially succeeds. He concentrates on breathing and staring into the middle distance while Jaing talks.

"Mi and Thena, it seems, have run slightly afoul of a client of theirs by having the bad luck to get boarded by pirates. Decent pirates who only wanted material profit, but still. Being sensible, the girls gave their cargo up."

"They were smuggling something weren't they?"

"They claim it was unintentional and I think I believe them. But at any rate the bexite ore slugs they were carrying were actually concealing a valuable blend of spice. It was in there-"

"Because bexite reflects all scan frequencies. They were hollowed out, the slugs?"

"Yeah. Pretty advanced stuff. So really it's no surprise that neither one of the the girls, clever though they are, worked out what was going on until after. They're not exactly master criminals."

Jaing had meant the last statement as a joke. He's trying to keep things calm. Gregor knows that, or at least his brain does. His brain, however, can't stop the twist of dark anger from climbing up his neck. He's not even sure who he's angry at. He breathes more, asks finally, in a voice strained to the snapping point:

"What's happening now?"

"Well, as you can imagine their client was less than pleased."

"What did he do to them?"

"Nothing. He tried but apparently our lady friends are more dangerous than they appear, even if they are sub-par smugglers. The team he sent to retrieve them are all dead or missing. Four nasty Weequays. I'll admit I'm a little impressed, did you teach them some tricks?"

"Not really. They get...creative when they're pressed."

"They do, apparently. Well as you can guess the client's gone from unpleased to murderous."

"What can I do? Can you get them somewhere else? "

The anger is making him feel hollowed out and loopy. He's seconds away from just getting up and walking away from this job. What the hell was he thinking just cutting out on Thena and Mi like that? Of course they got into trouble.

Jaing is reading him like a holo-novel. He keeps his voice normal; matter of fact but light. He's trying to help keep everything together. Gregor's grateful on some level. He honestly hadn't realized how much he needs help when it comes to balancing Thena and everything else.

"Good lad, my thoughts exactly. But it is, as usual, more complicated than that. It seems the client and his crew got a good look at Mi. She introduced herself to them at the start of the job I think, the silly creature. So hiding her is going to be a bit more difficult. Fear not, I am all over it. Unfortunately where Mi is Thena cannot go, or at least she can't stay for much longer. But I've got a solution. You're not going to like it but I'm pretty sure your girl, and you too if you keep calm, can rise to the occasion. Especially since you went and jawed off about her to your new friends. "

Gregor wonders how long Jaing's been on his tail for a second. Then his brain processes the implication of the Null's suggestion. He nearly hits the other clone. Jaing holds up his hands placatingly and forges rapidly ahead, having seen Gregor make the connection.

"It's actually almost lucky. It makes this better for you. It'll enhance your position, make you seem more stable. And we get another set of eyes on the inside."

"Thena is not working on anything for you. She's got no training. She's a civilian for _kriff's_ sake."

"You might want to talk to Thena about that. She volunteered before I even finished asking her so, according to the laws of war, that makes her a partisan for our side now."

"Don't you barracks-lawyer me, _mir'sheb_."

"Hey it is the best I could do on short notice."

"Why can't she stay with Mi?"

"Look if you don't want-"

"I didn't say that but if Mi's safer..."

"She's probably not. I mean she's alright for now and the pissed off former client certainly can't get to her but it's kind of a precarious situation. And Mi's...less...volatile than Thena."

"_Shab_ and you think that Thena's going to be better here?"

He's arguing but it's a futile gesture. Jaing, damn him, has him cornered. There is no way Gregor's going to refuse to have Thena here within arm's reach after hearing all of that. He doesn't like it. Hates the idea that Thena's going to be in danger helping him, but it appears that she's in worse danger without him. Jaing's a Force-damned master manipulator. He knows exactly how much Gregor loves his duty and exactly how much he loves Thena and now the Null's trapped him between the two. And he and his brothers are going to benefit too. Gregor doesn't know whether he wants to punch Jaing, cry or applaud.

Jaing can see him breaking. The man's as bad as a Jedi. He slides the point home, making sure Gregor's well and truly done for.

"She'll have you around and she'll have something to do. You've got less than a minute Gregor. I'm sorry to push it like this but I can't wait around anymore. Yes or No."

"_Shabla osik_, yes, okay? Yes."

"Good. I'll tell Kom'rk. She'll be here tonight. Do you have any clothes or anything for her. Nevermind, of course you don't. I'll give her some creds. She'll be here tonight."

"Jaing wh-?"

The shift bell lets out a deafening steam-shriek and the doors to the factory burst open. They have no more time. Jaing claps Gregor quickly on the shoulder.

"You're fine. We'll take care of her until tonight and then you can. Good luck at that interview _vod'ika_."

Gregor turns to say something but Jaing's vanished into a stream of workers emerging from another exit. Swallowing his newly increased trepidation Gregor stands and begins to push his way into the factory against the current of exiting men and women.

* * *

"So, Crent tells me you used to work for MandalMotors. Is that right?"

"Yes sir."

The foreman's a tall, lean, humanoid with coarse, straight black hair and bright blue eyes set into sockets that slant down sharply at the outside corner, giving him a constant squinting expression. His skin is a deep red that Gregor thinks must have come from a lot of exposure to stellar radiation. Though the man must work mainly indoors these days as a supervisor.

He moves with quick, jerky motions that remind Gregor of a large bird, a crane maybe. He's got a practiced sort of affability that probably came from having to manage rough-edged working crews and neurotic research types at the same time on the proto-type lines. Gregor knew he shouldn't but he finds he rather liked Gen Hui.

"Easy son, no need to 'sir' me. I'm just Hui. Why'd you leave Concordia? Galaxy's getting pretty rough, seems like a big risk."

Gregor's equilibrium is shot. He can only remember the bare details of his cover story. He tries, he really does, but the rest isn't coming. Instead he just says the first thing he can think of. Gives the bare bones in a voice that's probably more convincingly weary and worried and just plain done than anything he might have made up.

"I needed work. There was nothing left to do there and I didn't think the powers that be were going to let the system stay neutral for long."

"You didn't want to stay and fight?"

Gregor shifts uncomfortably before he speaks. Again, there's a realistic, fatalism to the words he couldn't have likely managed had he been thinking about it.

"It wasn't my fight. I build and I test. I'll fight if I have to but not for somebody else's causes."

The foreman nods.

"Hearth and home and the being beside you eh?"

"Yes si-Mr. Hui."

"You've got a girl too Crent tells me. She from Concordia?"

"Er, I met her after, when I was doing odd jobs. We...worked together."

"Good, good. She here?"

"Ah, not yet. She's uh, coming soon, though."

"So you'll need a job to keep her eh?"

Gregor sticks with the mostly honest tack he's started on when he answers.

"I need a job. But I don't keep her. She'll probably want to work too. She prefers to pull her weight."

"That's good, a good woman she sounds like."

Gregor shrugs, then nods.

"I tend to think so."

Hui pauses to scratch something onto the flimsi pad on his desk. Gregor watches, half bemused. Who used flimsi anymore? Hui looks up at him, smiling, eyes almost disappearing into the folds of his eyelids.

"D'you prefer morning or evening shifts?"

"Morning I think but...don't you want to know what I did on Concordia?"

"No need. We'll teach you what you don't know. Crent thought you looked solid and Marla Lenko tells me good things too and if she likes you...Well she trained me back when she was just a line stiff ages ago. So what she thinks I tend I agree with. I think you'll fit in well. The pay's four hundred creds a week plus your lodging and food stipend, which I think is about eight hundred a month. It's not the greatest but it's what I can offer. That alright with you?"

Gregor nods, a little awed at how easy this was. He clamps down on the trepidation churning in his gut as Hui grins and offers his hand. Gregor takes it and Hui shakes it vigorously as he speaks.

"Good. Welcome to Mother. There's some forms you should pick up from the personnel resources on your way out. Third door to the left, straight down the corridor from here. When's your girl coming?"

"Er, tonight."

"I'll give you an extra day then. Be here at seventh-hour in two days time to start."

"Thank you sir-I mean Mr. Hui."

"Do well lad and I'll thank you. Now go on I've got another meeting behind you."

* * *

The personnel office is staffed by a single, harassed seeming Rodian. She huffs and hisses and produces a pile of flimsi for Gregor after several minutes of shifting through still more flimsi sheets in a tiny closet behind her desk. For a supposedly hi-tech organization Mer-Son Proto-Type Testing certainly seems to love its archaic filing system he think. He thanks her and was about to leave when she suddenly made a noise like an over-pressured boiler.

"Wait! Uniform! Fitting!" She squeaks.

Gregor, knowing an order when he hears one, freezes and stays frozen as she shoots out from behind the desk with a bit of marked cord. She whips it around his shoulders and waist as he stands there, still as a statue, wondering what she's doing with the cord. Finished, she notes the something down on yet more flimsi before vanishing back into the closet. She's back two minutes later with dirt smeared over one eye and a dusty set of coveralls in her arms which she tosses to him.

"You'll need to get your own boots and protective gear. We'll reimburse you. Bring receipts." She yaps and then turns back to her ledger.

Gregor realizes, belatedly, that she had been taking his measurements, with a bit of cord. He's never heard of anyone doing anything like that before. He'd been measured for his uniform using laser grid analysis to ensure a perfect fit. On the two occasions when he's bough civilian clothes with Kom'rk they'd stepped into fitting booths to be digitally measured. What a weird, weird place this is. He half wonders if the leak doesn't have something to do with mislaid papers; nothing sinister at all, just careless waste disposal protocols. He finds himself almost hoping it's going to be that simple.


	4. Chapter 4

Gregor all but runs back to the apartment, though the sun is still an hour or more from setting. He has no idea where Jaing is or when he meant to come back with Thena. Tonight might mean something different to the Null. But there's no Thena waiting on his stoop or cleverly deposited in his rooms. Everything is as empty and quiet as he'd left it. Empty, quiet and a mess. He hasn't yet thrown away the bags from his groceries, his clothes are strewn across the floor and everything looks, well, dingy. He 's appalled that Thena might see it like this.

He carefully hunts down, bags and hauls away every fly-blown piece of plastoid, hair or fluff he can find. He washes all of his clothing by hand in the kitchen sink, since the laundry in the basement will take forever and mean he's out of the apartment for too long. He wrings them out and carefully hangs it all on a bit of cord he's stretched along the balcony. He wipes down every surface of the kitchen and the bathroom, the table and even the walls. Finally he slinks downstairs to knock on Mrs. Lenko's door to ask to borrow her cleaning unit to vacuum clean his carpet. She smiles at him oddly but lets him have it without comment.

Apartment finally clean, he showers and re-trims his hair, it seems to have grown half an inch in a day. He almost shaves but stops, razor half way to his chin, halted by a memory. It comes up, like most of his memories do now, as an echo out of a deep well inside him. Thena telling him she liked his beard a long time ago. The razor goes back in his box of toiletries next to the sink. He hopes she hasn't changed her mind.

He checks the chrono. Two hours have passed. The sun's almost set. This particular block has been gradually washed in shadows from the taller buildings making it seem darker than it really is. The sky above blazes orange and red. The long, wisps of cloud are slate grey in the dying light.

They remind him of the smoke that inevitably seems to congeal across battle fields at the end of a fight; heavy and stinking. He tells himself sternly that they aren't, that the sky's red from normal atmospheric refraction caused by the setting sun. There are no burning vehicles painting the heavens orange. That whiff of chemical smoke is just the foundries, which were intact, not bombed out shells. He's fine.

It's his nerves that are making him remember, playing tricks on him. He's worried about the mission and Thena. But she's coming. He'll be here. He'll keep her as safe as he can, given the circumstances. This isn't a shooting war. They'll be fine. As long as he keeps it together. Still, he can't suppress the deep shudder that crawls up his spine. Disgusted with himself he yanks the blinds closed and stalks to the kitchen to make supper.

He saves some of the grass grain and canned nuna stew in case Thena's forgotten, or been too busy, to eat. It sits in the otherwise empty cooler unit all wrapped neatly in a bowl like a little totem assuring him that he hadn't imagined Jaing's visit that afternoon. One he looks at with increasing frequency as the evening becomes night and the night wears on.

He writes a briefing on the day's events. It runs less than a page but he manages to stretch the process into more than an hour. He checks his intel files for items of interest relating to Hui and Crent; nothing of comes up. He paces until he's dizzy. Then stretches out on the couch, eyes closed, meaning to wait out the spinning in his head. It's just for a few minutes he tells himself; just until he feels better.

* * *

He snaps awake to the sound of a knock on the door. The old sofa, which upon further examination, is actually a bit too short for him to lay on groans softly as he struggles to sit up. His head had been canted backward at a strange angle and he's suddenly dizzy all over again as he raises it to look at the door. The knock comes again, harder.

He can't recall where he is and feels cold panic crash over him like an icy draught of water. He leaps to his feet despite the disorientation that makes him want to vomit. He has to be upright for some reason. If he's standing they couldn't take him; whoever they are. He turns in a staggering circle, taking in his surroundings.

Nothing is familiar. The panic gets louder. So does the knocking. Now someone's calling a name. His name? Is it real or in his head? No, no someone on the other side of the door is calling out softly, like they don't want anyone but him to hear them. He can't quite recall what his name is himself at the moment but he knows on some instinctual level that the muffled syllables he's hearing through the plaz mean him. He staggers toward the door, wanting to see who it is that knows him.

Out of unconscious habit he grabs a side arm from where it still rests on the fresher sink. He keeps it low and out of sight as he opens the door. He holds the control lever down so the door slides only a few centimeters wide. Just in case. The woman on the other side of the door is smaller than he thinks she should be for some reason. She's taking up less room; displacing too little space. He can't recall why that should be. It pulls at him urgently. He tries harder. Then the blood swirling around his confused head settles back into its proper channels and he remembers.

He remembers but he can't think of anything to say for a long minute. Her eyes are very bright in the dim light and very, very black. She looks thin, sharp edged. He can see her arm muscles twitching below the short sleeves of her shirt as she holds them tight across her abdomen; involuntary, nervous flickers of movement. He should say something. He should move. But she's frozen him to the spot somehow with her panicky eyes and body language. He forces himself to lower the gun. She hears him flick the safety back on through the crack in the door and draws her arms tighter across her middle, even as she cocks an eyebrow.

"Was it something I said?"

"What?"

The eyebrow cruises a bit higher on her pale face.

"Are you okay Gregor?"

"I was asleep. I mean," he steps back, dropping the blaster onto the folding table, "come in. I've uh...I was expecting you but then I fell asleep. Hi."

She ducks through the door and leans with her hands flat against it as soon as it slides shut.

"Hi." She whispers.

Gregor feels his throat click on a dry swallow. In the dim light of the room she looks even more wan and hard; all cheek bones and eyes and uncertainty. He swallows again, with a little more success.

"I mis-" she begins but, words having utterly failed him, Gregor decides on a much better course of action than chatting. He steps forward and kisses her.

He's timed it badly. The whole movement comes off as more of a lunge in her general direction. It seems to scare her. She squeaks strangely and draws back against the door. But he can't stop his headlong rush. He does manage to get his mouth over hers without too much clacking of teeth. A part of his brain worries for a moment that maybe he's over-reacting; that after so long apart she'd like to go a little slower, start with a hug or a handshake or something. Happily, his rational brain is a timid pessimist because Thena, once she realizes he isn't trying to eat her face, responds by throwing her arms around his neck and pressing into him so hard she knocks his momentum askew.

She's lighter than before, he's sure; a confirmation that her haggard face isn't just from the exhaustion and stress of prolonged space travel. She's also warm and clinging and smells wonderful; all metallic pheremones and an elusive smoky sweetness that he's forgotten until this second. Her tongue is meltingly hot in his mouth and the ridges of her soft palate are hypnotic under his. He pulls her up against him, wanting her closer even as he stumbles backwards. He holds onto her diminished waist like it's her holding him up; tighter, closer. Thena wheezes into his mouth and slaps his ear none too gently. He startles, pulling his mouth off hers, gripping her harder, trying to find the thing that had upset her.

"Ribs." She gasps. He blinks. She wiggles uncomfortably.

"You're crushing my ribs." She says more coherently, if still breathlessly. He blinks again and realizes that she's at his eye level, meaning she's either sprung up about a dozen centimeters in less than a minute or...He looks down. Her feet are dangling off the floor.

"Oh."

He loosens his grip a little. She slides down his body until her the toes of her boots are on the carpet. She drops her heels and takes a short step backward. He keeps his grip on her, hands resting just above her hips.

"Thanks." She says, almost normally.

He takes a few extra seconds to compose himself since her return to the ground has also had the wonderful, awful effect of dragging her against several spots on his torso and groin that are currently hypersensitive, to say the least.

"Er." He finally manages "Sorry?"

She smiles and his hypersensitive regions urge his brain to pick her back up. His brain, however, is fairly sure he's supposed to be doing something else, like talking. The impasse leaves him frozen long enough for Thena to slither out of his arms. She smoothes her shoulder length hair back from her eyes and flashes her lopsided smile.

"I'm supposed to ask you if you got that job, first thing or Jaing'll hit me." She says.

"Jaing will what?"

He hadn't meant that to come out with quite such a feral, growl under the words, really. Thena's smile gets bigger. So it must be okay.

"I'm sure he was just saying that. He's not ready for you to beat him to death I'm sure. But he is very, very anxious to know about this job prospect of yours."

"Oh, uh, yes. I got it. Why?"

"No idea. He tells me less than nothing."

Gregor rolls his eyes.

"You and me both Ten'ika. I suppose I'll have to com him."

Thena shrugs, eyeing the room over his shoulder.

"D'you have a shower in this place? A real on, not that sonic poodoo?"

"There's a fresher past the kitchen with a real, water shower in it."

Thena's eyes go round and she immediately peels off the thin, summer jumper she's wearing. Gregor watches her do it appreciatively. He contemplates grabbing her again but opts to wait until she's out of her boots to minimize potential injury if he surprises her. She toes the ancient looking footwear off while fumbling open the fastenings on her trousers. Gregor licks his lips as the oil-stained fabric dropped into a puddle on the carpet. Thena pauses then, set a hand on her panty clad hip and looks up at him through her lashes.

"It has been a month since I had a water-shower. Want to help me celebrate our reunion?"

"Yours and mine or yours and hot water's?"

"Either. Both. Gentleman's choice."

Gregor grins back and reaches for her. Only to have his com start to blare insistently from somewhere near the couch.

"_Haar'chak_" He hisses. Thena looks around, frowning.

"Where's it coming from?"

"Couch. I think I dropped it while I was sleeping." He answers over his shoulder as he stumbles toward sound.

Several seconds of digging and ignoring Thena's half stifled giggles later, he emerges from the cushions triumphant.

"You're a super-secret commando, really?" Thena teases. "Losing your com in the couch? That's like Mi levels of paying attention."

"Well, I was tired and getting ready for unexpected guests."

"Excuses, excuses. I've got a date with your shower. Last chance, are you in or not?"

Gregor almost drops the still bleating com but his training over-rides his hormones and he checks the code.

"_Shab_. It's Jaing."

"Pushy bastard." Thena hisses.

Gregor nods in agreement glaring at the chirping hunk of metal and plastoid in his palm. Something flies past him, smacking into the wall with a soft thump.

He looks up in time to see Thena sauntering toward the fresher, unhooking her bra. She's thrown her threadbare camisole at him. It dangles forlornly from the edge of the vid screen. She pauses in the doorway, bra unhooked, straps hanging of her shoulders. Only her arm across her breasts keeping it on. She gives him a well practiced pout and a tiny shimmy making the shoulder straps slide lower still.

"You could call him back." She stage-whispers.

Gregor silently damns his training and ingrown sense of duty as he shakes his head.

"Later Ten'ika" he says sadly.

Thena huffs, lets the bra slide off completely and throws it; with the accuracy that only a woman who'd worked as a stripper could have, at his head. He ducks but the hooks catch in his hair just as he thumbs on the receiver and Jaing's holographic form appeared in his palm.

"You tell Jaing that now _I_ get to hit _him_ next time I see him." Yells Thena half a second before the fresher door slides shut.

Even in the low quality holo Gregor can see Jaing's amused expression as he watches his 'little brother' claw the brassiere off his head.

"Bad time Greg'ika?"

Raw as he is about the timing Gregor still manages to salvage some professionalism. No matter how conflicted he's feeling about Thena and her being here he can still do his _shabla_ job. The com-call takes almost an hour. Jaing actually takes the hint from Gregor's stiff demeanor and mostly refrains from ribbing him. He makes Gregor repeat back the instructions and general plan twice and agree to bi-weekly updates too.

Gregor's still deeply ambiguous about Jaing's plan for Thena, especially when he finds out the Null has neglected to fully brief Thena on the situation. She knows Gregor's on an intelligence job and she knows that Jaing and Kom'rk want her to back him up but that's it. Jaing's confident that she's smart enough to figure out the rest as she goes along. Gregor agrees on that part but he's still livid that the Nulls seem to be taking her safety so lightly.

Still, he can see the logic and utility behind it. The leak could be in two places, the production line or the R&D leadership. They've narrowed it down that far, which is fortunate. But there's no more certainty than that. Having eyes and ears in both places is as close to a guarantee as they can have in this kind of work. Gregor just wishes that the second set of solo eyes weren't attached to _his_ woman. He makes his objections known, again, and Jaing shrugs them off, again.

He signs off with an exasperated huff and drops the com into a charging dock. Thena's regrettably completed her long reintroduction to water dispensing showers. She's also apparently invited herself into his bedroom. Not that Gregor minds. He checks all of the locks and security scrims in the apartment with almost unseemly haste.

Finally he shuts off the lights in the front room and tries not to run toward his bed. Thena's sprawled across the it in what she'd probably hoped was an enticing position. Given that she's only wearing one of his undershirts, one that's now damp from the shower and he hasn't seen her in months it probably would have been. Until she'd fallen asleep anyway. Now her sexy drape's more of an exhausted, boneless sprawl. Her hair's not so much artfully disheveled as hanging wildly around where her head's resting on her arms. Every so often she twitches just a little and makes a delicate, ladylike sound that she'll deny to his face is a snore. If he ever works up the nerve to tell her about it that is.

He stands in the door for a long time watching her sleep. It's been so long since they've had more than a handful of hours together. He can't remember the last time he'd been able to do this. To just be with her, alone. In fact, he reasons he may never have, given that he was essentially a different person for most of their previous relationship. It's a weird thought and he doesn't let it stay in his head too long. Instead he opts to live in the moment

Because, as confusing and nerve wracking as this assignment is becoming he's more than a little grateful to have it right now. Silently he switches off the single lamp on the floor and crawls into bed. A few minutes of gently rearranging Thena into a more comfortable looking position and making a little room for himself ensues. She snorts once and halfheartedly throws and elbow at his chin but doesn't wake up. Instead she turns her head a little towards him and slings a leg over his hip. He feels a sharp twist of happiness at that as he settles down on the lone pillow she's relinquished. He closes his eyes and silently admonishes his hormones to calm themselves. This is, after all, supposed to be a lengthy assignment.

* * *

Eight Hours Later:

"How much has Jaing told you?" Gregor asks, setting a plate of poached nuna eggs and half-burned grain-board in front of Thena.

He's heard it from Jaing but now he wants to see how much she actually knows. He can't help it, he worries. She grimaces at the scorched toast but digs in. He drops his own plate in front of the other chair and sits.

"Possibly a lot. He did that nervous thing where about half the things he said were abbreviations or code words."

Gregor snorts around his toast.

"Jaing is never nervous." He says, with great seriousness.

Thena cocks and eyebrow at him over the rim of her tea cup. He fights a smile.

"I'm sure he thinks so too." She murmurs.

She's avoiding the question. He can see it. He presses her.

"Well, what did he say? Can you remember it?"

Thena swallows another bite of eggs, sets her toast down carefully on the edge of her plate and closes her eyes. Gregor wonders what she's doing. Then she tips her face back and begins to speak in a flat, high pitched voice, like a child reciting a lesson.

"We've assessed a potential threat to arms control associated with Mer-Son, don't know what or where. We've got Gregor running a SAPINT operation, solo for now but we've got data on another potential line of information that just opened up. We've got other assets we can put on the board but you've got a previous relationship with our man in there that could be beneficial, to his cover if nothing else. Don't worry it isn't special recon or false-flag or anything, just standard technique. Gregor'll fill in the rest."

She opens her eyes, lowers her head and looks at him.

"Now I left school when I was thirteen but I _think_ he meant that we're spying on Mer-Son. Is that right?" She says, sarcasm heavy in her voice.

Gregor feels her tone like a knee to the gut but keeps his face and voice calm.

"It is. But you can't call it spying. And probably don't use Jaing's name outside of this apartment either."

She nods. He shovels the last of his breakfast into his mouth and stands, stretching to give himself a moment to think.

"Did he mention what he wants you to do specifically?" She shakes her head, avoiding his eyes again by mopping at the end of her eggs with a nub of toast.

"Have you got any experience working in a corporate office?" Another head shake.

"Damn. Look you don't have to do this."

"What is _this_ Gregor? Try telling me before you decide I can't. I promise to shut-up and listen."

He rubs the back of his skull and sighs.

"You're right, I'm sorry. Okay. The Nulls and some other branches of MILINT, military intelligence, have had Mer-Son under surveillance for a while. A number of the new Geonosian weapons have been showing a pretty marked ability to counter Mer-Son tech in very specific ways. It's like the bugs know exactly where the weak spots are and how to exploit them. Like they've got plans or possibly proto-types to work off of."

"So they think Mer-Son is giving weapons to the Federation, I mean the Separatists?"

"Weapons and armor designs, possibly. Or there may be a Sep agent somewhere in the production line that's handing off the plans once the project is deemed workable."

"So the Separatists may be receiving stolen plans from somewhere in the early development part of weapons and armor production. But we don't know that for sure. And we don't know how or where. There sure are a lot of blank spaces in your story. Why don't you just shut them down." Thena grouses.

"Me by myself?"

"No, you as in the army. Why are you even _stang_ around with all this spy stuff?"

"Because Mer-Son just won a billion plus cred contract to re-fit the Republic armed forces."

"In spite of the Confeds having their tech?"

"I don't think the appropriations committee knows about that."

"So we have to stop this leak before it gives away the designs of the guns that are being sold to the army thus making all armament useless and losing you the war?"

"Yes. Essentially."

"_Fek me."_

"Welcome to the wonderful universe of intelligence Ten'ika."

"So, still, what might I be doing?"

"Well there's two main possibilities that the Nulls want checked out. One is on the production line, looking for saboteurs, malcontents and the like. The other, is in the head office for the Development Group. That's the two areas where the plans for weapons are most out in the open so it follows that that's where the lead may be. The best way to confirm that something is going on is sentient eyes on the ground. Thus SAPINT, sapient intelligence."

"Okay. But which one is it? Which one is more likely, the production line or the office?"

"There's no way to know yet."

"Oh."

He feels his gut churn again with the familiar fear that this is a huge mistake. It's intensified now that it's not just himself he's worrying about. He doesn't want her in this, doesn't want her paranoid and afraid constantly. Not again. But she should know everything first. She should understand what's happening since Jaing's made very clear that, whether or not she cooperates, she's here on Kirvella with him for the duration.

"I'm going to be on the production line but they want someone in the Head office to observe the senior staff, the Senior Chairman and his Deputy Department Head."

"Which is why you wanted to know about the office experience."

"We can get a cleaning droid in there to toss flimsi and set up surveillance for the rest. You don't have to do it." He tries to reassure her; take the pressure off.

"And what do I do then, if I don't go to this office?"

"Whatever you want."

"So I'm your house girl? Or I go back to waitressing?"

"Thena the ability to blend in, be totally mundane and normal in your task is absolutely everything here. You've got to.-"

"Keep cool in front of people who'll kill me if they find out what I'm up to? Lie to someone I like, despite what I feel? Use everyone, including supposed friends, without any remorse to get what I need? Cut and run the second I have what I want regardless of the wreckage I'll leave behind me? Is that about right? I think you know I can do that pretty good."

"Then-"

"I could guess what was coming by what Jaing told me. I volunteered for it. Did he mention that? I chose this because I want to. I want to help because it's patriotic and stupid and exciting and if I'm going to get shot for _kriffing _something up I'd really rather be with you than Mi, much as I love her."

"Thena this isn't Abafar. If these guys are really in bed with the Separatists...I haven't seen as much as the Nulls but if you, if _we kriff _this up, what happens to us is very likely going to be worse than getting shot."

Thena looks at him levelly.

"I know some things about getting worse than shot too."

"Can you pass yourself off as a competent desk grunt Thena?" He asks.

It's cruel of him, a low trick reminding her of her deficit in training but he needs her to take this seriously. Her face flushes with anger.

"I was under the impression that Jaing and Kom'rk were going to take care of getting me hired. Do some sort of magical commando string pulling or something."

"Fine. But what about the day to day? Writing reports, filing-"

"I am actually literate, thank you. And I'll figure it out. I realize it's going to be a bit more intellectually challenging than taking off my clothes Gregor but that's not the extent of my abilities, thank you very much. Why don't you have a little confidence in me?"

"I don't doubt your nerve or your brain Thena. It's the rest of it, the training you haven't got."

"So train me." She says baldly.

And there it is. The solution. The one he doesn't want to acknowledge. Because what if he does it wrong? What is he forgets to teach her something that could save her life? It's not really her screwing up that scares him; it's him.

"I've never trained anybody. I've only...this is my first solo assignment."

She nods, sadly. Of course she understands. Thena's always been good at reading people, reading him in particular. She gets up and stands in front of him; takes his right hand in both of hers and kisses his knuckles.

"Please, Gregor. Please."

Him and Thena and 'please.' It's all over. He wonders if she knows how much he can't say no to her when she says 'please.' She probably does. It should make him angry, being manipulated again, having his choices taken away but he doesn't feel it. If Thena's manipulating him it's because she wants to be here with him, because she wants to help the cause, the war effort, whatever.

He's still scared of messing up but maybe this is part of learning to work on his own; learning to trust his allies. He's still chilled and his gut won't stop aching but now there's something else, way down deep. It's a warm, slick kind of happiness because his girl's here, because she wants to do this with him, because maybe he doesn't have to keep the two sides of himself separate. Maybe it will be easier with her here. He can be Gregor and CC-5576-39 at once if she'll be the bridge between the two. If he, _if they_, can manage that then he only has to worry about the mission.

He sighs. Rubs the back of his skull and nods. Thena grins. The warmth flows up and through him. It's almost enough to fight off the blank dread that's taken up residence at the bottom of his gut.

* * *

They go shopping after breakfast. Jaing's given Thena a tidy pile of credits since she left most of her's back with Mi. She still won't tell him much about where the Mirialan is but she reassures him over and over that Mi's safe, that Kom'rk and Jaing are making sure of that. He can tell how much she wants to believe that so he doesn't push.

They go to the shop his employee resources flimsi indicated has the contract to provide approved production and safety gear. He picks up a second pair of boots for himself and a couple of safety suits with the Mer-Son logo on them he'll need for work. She gets new trousers, shirts, and boots since hers are clearly on their last legs, and pays for everything. Insisting it's only fair since he cooked. She changes into the clean new clothing in the back of the shop. Then it's time to get Thena properly kitted out for her mission.

He follows her into the lady's clothing shops and offers his opinions. This is all part of the training, establishing cover. By Thena's own admission she has no clue what appropriate work-wear looks like. He thought she was exaggerating at first but then he notices she tends to gravitate to skirts that are a little too short and blouses a little too tight. He grits his teeth and tries to diplomatically point out to her that, while her selections are certainly appealing they draw a bit too much attention. Thena listens, nods sagely and says, with perfect equanimity, like she's discussing ship vectors or dinner:

"Because I'm not reliant on tips anymore. Less T and A. Got it."

He supposes he should be feeling good that she's being conscientious about this. But her bluntness still makes his ears and neck flush. Between him and the clerks though, they assemble a pile of conservative, knee length skirts and about five blouses.

The clerks are taken aback at first by how much he seems to be participating in the shopping. He realizes he's supposed to act more disinterested when one of the clerks asks if he wouldn't rather sit down, motioning to a group of chairs tucked out of the way by the door. There's another male sitting in one impatiently scanning something on a pad. Gregor considers it, worrying that maybe he's breaking out of his cover; being unusual and memorable but he can't help it right now. Thena needs him.

He declines the chair. The clerk gives him a sly look, turns and whispers conspiratorially to Thena about where she got such a good one. Gregor's muscles unclench as the other two shop assistants shoot him indulgent smiles.

The entire pile of clothes is about a tenth as heavy as one of his coveralls and costs ten times as much. He tries not to look alarmed when Thena hands over an enormous chunk of Jaing's specie. He hopes he gets paid soon. He also hopes the office payroll department takes into account the ridiculous amount of money required to buy proper clothing once Thena actually starts working.

He's satisfied with the haul and ready to head back to the apartment. They've got a lot to go over. But Thena's not done. She drags him to a cosmetics shop. She needs to totally look the part she tells him. She's been looking at the other ladies in the shop, both the staff and the other customers, and she's realized she needs to change her makeup routine.

Here he manages to act like a proper male companion and lurk uncomfortably near the door. It's easy to do since he can't tell one type of powder from another. Once Thena buys a small, still staggeringly expensive, array of paints and stains for her face she marches across the street to a shop advertising female undergarments.

He declines to go into this one with her, even though she reassures him the staff don't actually demonstrate the wares if he was worried. He still thinks it's going to look odd for him to go in. She sighs but then grins wickedly and tells him it's probably better this way. She can surprise him with her purchases afterward. He likes that idea and tries not to spend the next half hour grinning like a moron at nothing thinking about it.

Shopping finally finished, they buy some more food and walk slowly back to the apartment. It's all very strange and domestic. Gregor thinks about whether or not he likes this but can't decide. He walks along, carrying his and Thena's bags and tries to look like he does this all the time. He sees Mrs. Lenko peering out through the curtains and raises a hand. She drops the lace and steps backwards. He frowns, she's never been unfriendly yet but there's no time to think about it. He has to negotiate the stairs and the keypad and the bags.

Thena puts everything away in the battered, built in clothes press while he assembles all of the gadgets he thinks might come in handy on the table. By the time She's done and back out it's hard to see the surface of the table amid the bits of plastoid and metal. She cocks and eyebrow as she sits but stays silent, letting him explain.

"You're probably not going to use most of this but you should know what it all does I think." He starts.

"Once you get into the office I'll have to get in and bug it so you may see this stuff and-" He trails off as she watches him curiously.

_Shab_, he's nervous. He's rambling. He's not focused.

"You know what, never mind. You don't need to know how all this _kebise_ works."

"Kebeesay?" She parrots dubiously.

He flinches.

"It means stuff, sorry. It's Mando'a."

"What do I need to know Gregor? And don't say Mandalorian. I've barely managed basic and Huttese."

Gregor smiles. She does too. He appreciates her ability to make him feel better, calmer. He takes a couple of breathes and starts over.

"We're strictly data gathering. We don't process and we don't move on anyone unless there's no other option. We can build a network if we have to but we're still so early in the game that it might be more of a burden than anything else."

"What are you looking for then?"

"Proof."

"That Mer-Son, or somebody in Mer-Son is a Confed?"

"Or working with them. Yeah, that's it."

"But you don't know that already?"

"Prudii suspects. But no, we don't know. Which means two things. Either there's nothing and we're wasting our time or this network is very good and very entrenched."

"How do you mean?"

"You've met Jaing and Kom'rk. Well they're the cutesy double act of the Nulls. They fly by the seat of their pants and let people get away with all kinds of _duse,_ err, garbage. Prudii though, he's serious, professional and his brother Ordo, he's very serious and very professional. They can get data on almost anything. They can trace, infiltrate, whatever they need. Neither one of them, nor Jaing or Kom'rk either can tell one way or another what is going on when it comes to Mer-Son. We know the seps seem to have a lot of information on Mer-Son products but that's it."

"What happens to Mer-Son if they are cooperating or collaborating or whatever?"

Gregor nods. It's a smart question. She's thinking about this. That's good.

"If it's all of Mer-Son either they pull out; publically declare for the seps or more likely the GAR comes in here and changes the heads of the departments."

"That means they kill them right? The collaborators. The army comes in here and kills them."

Gregor really wishes she weren't so canny or so blunt. It's not that he doesn't realize what's at stake here it's just that it's easier not to think about it while he's in the field. He doesn't lie to her though. She wants this straight, so he gives it to her.

"Yeah. The Republic can't let an asset like Mer-Son just go."

"What if it's just one person, or a few people? They vanish one day, have mysterious accidents?"

Gregor shrugs.

"Maybe, if they aren't useful. It'd be better if they could be turned. That way we could get accurate intel on other operations like this one."

Thena looks flushed and is playing with one of the bead coms; rolling it from palm to palm absently.

"You can still say no Ten'ika." He allows gently. She stares at the com in her hands, blinking slowly then looks up at him.

"But we don't do any of that. You said."

He feels like someone simultaneously lifted a huge weight of his chest and doused his gut in sub-zero coolant. He smiles at her.

"No _cyar'ika_, not us."

He can see her compartmentalizing the nasty truth of this job; filing things away in her head so she doesn't have to think about the immediate consequences. It's the smartest way to do this kind of work. He's glad she reached that conclusion on her own. It will make things easier in the long run.

"Okay," she says after a moment, voice light "so how do I go about being a spy?"

* * *

He tells her about dead drops and live ones, though he doubts that anyone's actually handing off information to another sentient directly. If they were the Nulls would probably have found out about it. Live drops tend to require well trained and therefore known people to be involved.

He tells her about the single use pads in case she needs to relay information to him and can't do it face to face for some reason. She likes those, loves the cloak and dagger nature of the decoder flimsis he teaches her how to read. He gives her a rundown of the types of things they're looking for, meetings at odd times, sudden, unexplained behavior, obvious signs of paranoia and stress, not wanting to go anywhere alone or always going places alone.

"But won't they be over that kind of stuff if they've been spying for a while?" She asks. It's another smart question and he feels irrationally proud of her; as though he had something to do with her cleverness.

"They're not professionals, not the people we'd find probably. They're just ordinary beings who wanted more money or believe in a cause. They're just pawns."

"Like us." She says in an oddly cheery voice. He narrows his eyes, trying to suss of whether or not she's joking. Her face is Ocsinin blank.

"You're not a pawn and we're professionals." He corrects, gently.

"Of course we are."

He glares at her. She holds up her hands.

"I'm sorry, keep going. I won't joke."

"And because we're professionals, no matter what you may think, we've got tricks they don't."

"Like what?"

"Like the Nulls are going to start subtly passing around that the Republic is on to the fact that something may not be right here in the Corporate Sector."

"But doesn't that make our job harder?"

She's frowning a little. The afternoon sun's seeping in through the translucent blinds over the kitchen window; catching in her hair, making it seem almost blue in certain places. Her lips are dark. She's been biting them on and off throughout the conversation, and now they're slightly swollen. He realizes they don't have to be anywhere until the day after tomorrow; his first day of work and the interview the Nulls somehow got scheduled for her. They've got lots of time to go over everything. He smiles at her. She frowns a little harder.

"Maybe. But remember rule number eleven." He tries to keep his voice serious but he can't stop the smile from slowly spreading across his face.

"There are rules?"

"Rule number eleven, build opportunity when you can."

"What's rule number one?"

"Assume nothing."

"How many rules are there?"

"Seventeen, give or take."

"Do I have to know all those? On top of the book bit and the drops?"

"Oh yes, all of them. There's tests. Whenever you meet up with a sympathetic agent you have to recite them all. Whoever does it fastest wins."

It takes her a second to get the joke. That second twists his chilly gut up badly. He suddenly feels awful for losing his focuses, because she's taking all of this so seriously. She's relying on him to tell her what to do and how to stay alive. Totally and completely relying on him and he's letting himself get distracted by her hair and her mouth. But then she grins and swats at his head.

"_Sleem_-" She starts.

He snatches her hand and pulls her out of her chair. A little negotiation around the edge of the table and she ends up in his lap. He grins at her, then makes a mock solemn face.

"I'm only trying to help. Rule number one, assume nothing. Rule number two, plan for the worst that can happen. Rule number thr-"

She slaps his ear and then kisses him to show she's only joking. He kisses her back. He tries to keep it light butH it's been months and, unlike certain Nulls, he doesn't believe in having a female or two in every starport. He's got Thena and even if her ass isn't quite as soft and full as he remembers she's here now and there'll be some time for him to feed her up. There'll be time for a lot of things a bit later, like the important rules about trusting your gut and maintaining cover. But not right now. Right now he wants to see what it's like to have Thena on a real mattress that doesn't fold into the wall. One that's big enough for both of them to lay side by side on after.


	5. Chapter 5

Oh yes, I am also posting this on AO3 for those of you who would like to read some of the explicit interludes between Gregor and Thena. These will not be posted to out of respect for the non-explicit conent policy. Links to the AO3 version may be found on my profile (the chapters are less edited on AO3 so beware the typos).

Enjoy!

* * *

Thena wakes up nervous edging into afraid. She's worried the interview's today. Even if the Nulls have somehow rigged it in her favor there's a whole host of other nebulous threats crouching at the edges of her consciousness, scratching to get in; stealing her sleep. She puts on a brave face whenever Gregor brings up her insomnia. So long as he doesn't ask her too many questions about it she can even keep that face convincing. When his concern becomes too obvious she'll counter with a question about what he calls 'tradecraft.' Make him talk up all those rules about information drops and codes and not trusting your own shadow just swallow time up. And if he seems unfooled by her sudden interest in electronic bugs then she just climbs on top of him and starts undressing. It's been almost a year, Coruscant sidereal, since they were together so it's not exactly difficult to entice him.

She knows he's uneasy too but she really can't deal with that at the moment. She needs Gregor to be either Mr. Super-Spy or Mr. Naked-and-Incoherently-Post-Coital right now. If he starts worrying it only makes her worse. It'll be better once she's actually on the job she's sure. Once she's working she'll have something else to focus on and then she and Gregor can start having complex conversations about regional politics or the weather and stuff.

They should probably already be having conversations about things other than the job, she allows, grudgingly. But all that confabulation and work is going to inevitably cut into their time-for-fucking allowance. Gregor's not the only one who's been doing without after all and Thena's been finding distracting him almost too much fun.

All good things, she muses, are forced to be enjoyed in moderation by the unending pressure of the universe. She's not bitter about that; really she's not. It's a Force-sent blessing to be away from those pirates that stared at her like she was a piece of meat. Mi had skills they valued but, as nearly half of them were already passable pilots, she was only worth as much entertainment as she was willing to provide. And she wasn't willing to provide any. It was damned lucky that Kom'rk had swooped in and pulled her out when he did because she was going to vape one of those sons of groxes the next time they grabbed her ass and once she did that; well...Better not to think about it.

So instead of being a grisly trophy hung on the wall of some pirate-lords seedy 'palace' she's getting to play house with Gregor. There's also a distinct possibility of one or both of them getting shot but, she muses with a grimace, that's essentially normal for them. She doesn't let herself dwell on it. Instead, she sits up on the bed, the real, honest-to-Force bed, and watches the early morning sunlight creep through the window and scale the mattress a centimeter at a time. The bedroom window faces south so it catches the entirety of Kirvella's long dawn.

Thena's haunted brain is pushing her into new realms of thought; of self reflection actually. Because as she and Gregor are building her new persona she's having to become aware of her mannerisms, her motivations. She's cataloging her personality in ways that she never has before and thinking hard about why and how she does the things she does; from how she walks to what scares her or makes her laugh. It's strange and uncomfortable and dredges dark depths of her psyche that she's been ignoring for a long time.

Thena Kuora, or Thena Tahy as she's glossed at the moment, doesn't think of herself as a particularly deep person. She's all appetites, for food or sex or a fast ship riding a deep-space radiation current. She's more immediate than contemplative. Sure, she can plan her way out of a bad situation but said plan is more of a series of reactions to events piled one on top of the other until it's grown enough for her to climb out on.

Being mixed species taught her that; to react rather than plan and live in the moment because what's coming around the unseen bend it probably not good. The kids she grew up with were mostly pure-blooded; no Ocsinin, but full human, or Zeltron or Duro. They loved to tease the half-breed, lie in wait and ambush her. So Thena got real good at reading the signs of an impending attack in their eyes, the line of their mouths, their fingers, and dodging before they moved. She also got pretty good at not waving her counter attacks to them either; going from calm-seeming to either violence or flight with hardly any warning.

But she still sweats when she gets too emotional, even if she can't cry. She still flushes up with whatever feeling is tearing at her. She's never been able to hide that even as she learned to roll with the punches. Her Ocsinin Ma, her full-blooded Ocsinin Ma, always shook her head whenever Thena got worked up. Her face would be perfectly, beautifully blank as she watched her child disappoint her again and again

And Thena knows she was a disappointment to both her parents, a symbol of failure to her mother and a burden to her father. She knew she was never going to be good enough the day her Pa didn't bother coming home when she was eight and her Ma refused to feed her for two days because of it. So she gave up trying and just lived for herself, right in the moment again. It got her into mess after mess but that was usually okay with her. When she was in trouble she at least knew she existed.

Truth was though, she'd been cruising hard for self-destruction back then. Charise had clearly been bad news from the start but Thena let herself be blind to it until she was marooned on that salt-plain hell hole; indentured to the Borkus. That had been the absolute bottom. She'd thought a lot about just provoking some rough-neck badly enough to get herself shot. Then Mi -Syung took an interest in her, for reasons Thena still doesn't understand; though she's grateful. Mi was the first actual friend Thena'd ever had. She calmed her down, propped her up a bit and gave her the grounding to actually think a bit ahead for once. Mi walked up to Thena and forced her to start paying attention; she inserted herself into Thena's life and stayed there. And then came Gregor.

Beside her Gregor grunts and kicks at the sheets tangled around his feet. Tired of the sunlight, she decides to watch him for awhile while she broods, maybe it will improve her mood. Gregor's the weirdest, best thing that's happened to her so far; except maybe for finding her ship, _Simli,_ in a scrap heap on Abafar. In a way the ship and the man started out as kind of the same, a ticket into another, bigger world. Then came the weird part; the part where Gregor went got under her skin in a way she wasn't expecting; burrowed in so deep she couldn't pull him out again.

She loves Mi like an annoying but ultimately good sibling and _Smili _she loves like she loves her own hands. When she had to leave the ship behind, squatting out on the endless savannahs of the pirates' home world, it _hurt_. She'd lay inconsolably in a bunk on Kom'rk's ship for almost a day. She'd only snapped out of it because Kom'rk reminded her she was going to see Gregor. And Gregor...well she hasn't have a way to describe what she felt for Gregor.

If she loves Mi like a sister and _Simili _like an organ her feelings for Gregor are developing into something akin to the way she felt when she races a comet tail or skips along an asteroid wake; like there's nothing else to want in the universe. Like maybe something is perfect, just one thing is absolutely flawless in her life.

She scoots up the mattress until she's properly upright, back pressed into the wall, legs out in front of her. The sunlight's made it all the way up the side of the mattress and is starting to climb Gregor as well. She doesn't blame it. It's still a little surprising to her that he's so handsome and patient and intelligent; and that he wants to spend time with the mess that is her.

She's pretty sure she's never going to get used to the contrast in him; the man of, well, of violent action and the quiet, careful thinker. He just switches between them so effortlessly. She knows it's supposed to be because he was bio-engineered to do that. According to Kom'rk all clones can. But Gregor's different from Kom'rk and Jaing.

She's never met any other clones but she's willing to bet he's different from them too. Jaing and Kom'rk do the danger-man stuff because they like it, because their violence has no mindfulness to it, no thought while it's happening. She can see it because that's how she's tried to be for so long. They can plan and they can fight, and they can pull out that rapier wit at a moment's notice. So clearly, they're intelligent but they don't _think_. Not like Gregor thinks.

Maybe it's because he was out of his head for so long that now he really likes spending time in it. Whenever she says something to him, or does something; up to and including stripping down in front of him, she can see him weighing his potential decisions. He does it so fast she guesses most people don't realize he's doing it. But if there's one thing Thena's invariably good at it's reading people. She can see what's going on behind Gregor's eyes in those minute pauses.

Everything he does he thinks through. He probably back analyzes what he's already done too. She was surprised recently when she realized that that turned her on. More so even than his eight point three meters of hard-used muscle and warm caramel colored skin. Which means she loves his brain a whole _kriffing_ lot, considering its competition. She's so into the way Gregor thinks, she realizes, that she's started to push herself to think more like him. She wants to keep up with him, even if it's only in one area. She knows she's never going to be as physically tough as the man but maybe, if she works really hard at being as smart, then he won't get tired of her; won't leave her behind some day.

Thus why she's up uncharacteristically early, worrying. She wants to get this right, to prove that she's smart and able; not just animal-cunning and quick on her feet. She's feeling pressure, not so much about getting caught. Between Gregor and the Nulls she thinks that they have a pretty high chance of getting away in a hurry if they have to. No Thena, for probably the first time in a long time, is worried she's going to let someone down; let Gregor down specifically. She knows he doesn't see it that way. There's probably not a whole lot she could do to make Gregor disappointed unless she's actively trying to. And that's kind of the problem.

He's worried about her messing up because he doesn't want her to get hurt. He probably doesn't care all that much about whether or not she does a good job. He's told her already that if she just narrates for him what she sees everyday then he'll be satisfied. She doesn't have to bug or monitor or steal flimsi if she doesn't want to. He means that too. Gregor won't push her to do more than she thinks she's able to. He doesn't expect her to be magically good at this. He doesn't put any pressure on her so she puts twice as much on herself.

Gregor grunts again. The sun's up high and the light's all the way to his lower ribcage. He shifts restlessly until his nose bumps against her hip. She jumps a little when he breathes out; warm air from his lungs tickling her skin. He snuggles closer. He'll get an arm free in a minute and wrap it around her. He likes to do that; keep her secured to him while he's asleep. It annoyed her when he did that on Abafar but now it's kind of sweet, especially since Kirvella's transitioning to its autumnal season and it's getting chilly. But she doesn't let him do that this morning. If he pulls her down she may not be able to resist waking him up for early morning sex and they're on a schedule.

Thena slides her legs out from under the sheets and gets up, careful to avoid jostling the mattress too much. She pushes one of her pillows near Gregor's face to give him something to cuddle for a few more minutes. He'll catch on eventually and wake up and be sad probably. But she intends to assuage him with freshly made caf and maybe even toast if she's feeling ambitious.

* * *

He is a bit grumpy when he regains consciousness alone in the bed, ten minutes later. But she soothes him with caf, a kiss to wipe the pouty, hang-dog expression off his face, and dibs on the first shower. Her interview isn't until ninth-hour so she walks him to the factory. She even kisses him goodbye in front of everybody and hears somebody hoot. Gregor's head comes up quick but he must know whoever it was yelling because he gives his not-happy-but-not-really-angry frown.

"I'm off at half fourth." He says quietly, rubbing the small of her back distractingly. She nods. And then remembers how to speak a second later.

"I'll meet you out here."

"Good." He grins and raises an eyebrow. "We can go for a walk in the park afterward."

"Professionally or for amusement?"

"First one, then maybe the other." She kisses his cheek one more time and swats at his head.

"Go to work, stud."

He grins at her for half a second longer and then turns and lopes toward the factory.

* * *

She walks back to the apartment and doesn't even check the street signs on the way. That's something she learned early, don't look lost even if you are, it attracts attention. She has a feeling the old Nar Shadda, quick footed, siege mentality might come in handy on this job. She just has to remember not to make it look like a siege mentality she sternly reminds herself as she waits for the water in the shower to heat up.

She doesn't quite recognize her reflection when she's done with the hair, clothes and makeup. She looks younger and older at the same time. Her hair's pinned up smoothly and her skin looks more human than Ocsinin, cheeks quietly pinked along with her lips. She's picked out a grey skirt and cream colored blouse with little lace cutouts at the collar and down the sleeves. There's a matching, short jacket and a complementary pair of low, sensible black shoes as well. The only women she ever saw dress like this were her aunts, who taught at a fancy boarding school in the upper spires. Is this what a corporate office girl looks like? She hopes so because it's too late to change.

She can't walk to HQ, as Gregor calls it. She has to take an Airbus. She's never been in one so new and so empty. It's kind of weird to see people not clutching their handbags close; laying them on open seats beside them and the like. She's fascinated by a young mother who's so preoccupied with her baby that she actually chases the kid up the aisle, abandoning her purse for several minutes. By the time Thena realizes she's distracted, the bus is a stop past where she meant to get off.

She's still three minutes early when she reaches the Nhantey Tower, home to Mer-Son R&D corporate offices. She gives herself a minute to catch her breath and surreptitiously fan her sweaty face dry. Two minutes to go and she marches inside, stops at the front desk, as instructed, and tells the security guard firmly where and by whom she's expected. She might have done it a little too firmly because the security guard cocks an eyeridge at her for a long moment before picking up his hand-com and waving upstairs. After a moment he nods to her and motions to the bank of turbolifts.

"Floor seventy-two. And don't forget to breath, honey."

She almost glares at him and then notices the gentle, paternal smile that's playing at his mouth. Right, not Nar Shadda, or Abafar. Calm down, calm all the way down. She smiles back. It's a little shaky but he probably reads that as interview nerves, which is kind of true.

"Thanks."

"My pleasure."

The interview goes badly; really, amazingly badly. It is, in fact, not even an interview. It's a cattle call of human females between twenty and thirty or so standard years. They are all dressed in shades of what Thena's wearing though her outfit is among the plainest by a fair margin. The women are lined up in front of a reception cubicle, handed a pad by a reception droid and instructed to fill out and submit the forms saved on it. Thena manages that fine; remembers all the correct details and everything. Then they wait.

By fours and fives they're called into a room behind reception and, to Thena's horror when it is finally her turn, they are sat in front of a monitor with a type-pad and administered a series of "skills" tests. Thena can type, sort of, with like two fingers at a time. The other girls, she notices, use all ten. Then come the tests on standard office software and protocol. The questions seem to be written in a language only tangentially related to Basic. It takes her longer than everyone else in the room to finish and even then she has to give up on a couple of sections in despair.

Some of the other women are talking in little clumps when she finally exits back into the reception area; little clumps that go silent when she walks by. It's like being nine all over again. Thena almost keeps walking right to the lifts.

But Force-be-damned she is not about to let a bunch of giggling, up-spires scare her off. She has a ship of her own. She's faced down pirates and mercenaries and even one or two gangsters. I've got a body count too Thena reminds herself with an inward curl of sick pride. So _fek_ these _schutta_ with their flashy jewelry and ability to collate files. Kom'rk told me this thing was in the bag so all I have to do is hang on, she reasons with herself.

She sails to a chair near the knot of women and picks up a holo-mag, pretending the other females aren't even there. They shift uncomfortably for a minute or two and then disperse, leaving Thena the field. Time drags on. Gradually they're each called back in ones and twos. Thena notices that the pairs always seem to emerge from the back faster. They also head straight for the lifts. They must be the guaranteed rejects. Only half of the single call-backs reappear So long as she goes in alone then she's safe.

"Tahy, Thena and Venari, Yveea " croaks the droid.

_Kriff. Kriff_! this was not part of the plan. Thena gets up, feeling sick to her stomach and wobbly legged. Yveea Venari doesn't look so great either. She's clearly come to the same conclusion about the pairs versus single girls. The reception droid hands them each pads again. Thena presumes it's to take notes or something. There are no instructions.

They teeter into the back, through the room they tested in and into a tastefully decorated, soothingly lit hallway. There are two human males waiting. The taller, younger one eyes Thena with open disdain before pointing imperiously at Venari and motioning her to follow him.

Thena breathes out. That leaves her with the kinder looking one. He smiles at her and she can't help but smile back.

"Ms..." He glances at the pad in his hand, "my apologies, Mrs. Tahy, would you come this way please?"

He leads her into one of three offices. The first one has Venari and the grox-head inside, the third and largest is empty. The man opens the door to the second office and leads her inside. The plaque on the desk reads: 'Arricnak, Deputy Department Head.' The older man sits in a comfortable chair across the room from the desk and motions her graciously into the other.

"Mrs. Tahy why don't you tell me about your interest in this position?" He begins.

She parrots the answers she and Gregor worked out, similar experience in ManadlMotors, etc. They go back and forth like that for awhile; why did you come here, what did you do before, how do you find Kirvella and so forth. Finally he sets down the pad.

"Your husband just started in Testing didn't he?" The man asks.

"Yes, um, just this morning actually." She answers.

It's slightly jarring to hear Gregor referred to as her husband. She blinks a few times, trying not to dwell on it.

"Had he been looking for work long?" Arricnak continues. Hopefully he hasn't noticed her discomfort.

"Um, elsewhere, yes. But he started on here fairly quickly I think."

"And you followed him."

"Yes."

"Mrs. Tahy, please be honest, was the corporate structure at MandalMotors much like this? Like what you've seen today, I mean."

She pauses, trying to guess if this is some kind of a trick question. But the man just looks at her earnestly. Finally she speaks. She's guessing here and can only pray that she's not about to get herself in trouble.

"Not really, no."

"I didn't think so." He says with a smile. She's probably vaped anyway so she just goes for it.

"It wasn't exactly a top down kind of place. They aren't big on that, Mandalorians. They expect work, good work, and a halfway decent attitude most of the time. But so long as you pull your weight, you're fine."

His smile gets a little bigger.

"Yes, yes that is a bit more...unstructured than we're used to. But one can hardly argue with their results, at least before..."

"Yes, Before." She agrees blandly, because she's too nervous to stay quiet.

"Mrs. Tahy I th-" the door to the office opens. The younger man, alone now, is standing in it.

"That's the last of them Petrus. I'm going to leave my recs on Xen's desk."

The old man frowns.

"You haven't spoken with Mrs. Tahy. I believe she is down for a double evaluation."

The young man sneers.

"I don't think that's necessary. I can see-"

"Geritt." Snaps the old man. The younger one shuts up but still looks nasty. He finally shrugs indolently.

"Fifth needs a new one, send her down there. I don't think the head office needs dilu-"

"That is more than enough Gerrit Hessak." The old man barks. He turns to Thena.

"Pardon me Mrs. Tahy, would you mind stepping into the lobby for a moment? I need to speak with my subordinate."

Thena gets up and tries not to slink out of the office. Gerrit steps carefully out of her way, like he's making a point not to touch her, even accidentally. She can guess why. She takes a second to compose herself before heading back into the now empty lobby. The reception droid whirs at her

"Your application will be waved to you, thank you for coming. We will be contacting the eligible candiat-"

It stops mid sentence and goes stiff for a moment. Someone's sending an over-ride code to it. It whirs, clicks and then says:

"Please have a seat."

That's it. No timeline, nothing. Thena sits down feeling more than a little stiff and droid-like herself. She realizes the pad is still in her hands. She thinks about turning it on but her fingers are cold and hard; unresponsive.

Gerrit had been about to say 'dilute,' she's almost positive. Dilute, half-breed; she's been out on the hard edges of society where things like that are less important for a long time. She's all but forgotten what it feels like to be seen as half of something. It hurts just as bad as it did when she was a kid.

She wonders what's going on back in that nice office. The old guy seemed okay but who knows, maybe he's just better at hiding it. Why is she still here? Are they going to call her back in and ask her why she, a sub-being, would ever presume to apply for a position like this? Can they do that?

She doesn't even realize she's sweating until the a drop splash on the pad. _Kriff_ it, she can't take this. She'll wait tables, let Gregor be the spy. Maybe she can help out another way, help him sneak bugs into buildings at night or something but this is too much. She gets up and slips to the far lifts, out of the droid's sight-line in case it tries to stop her.

* * *

She forgets which bus she's supposed to take back and finally has to ask a woman on the street. She's half afraid the lady's going to sneer at her too but the woman just rattles off a line number and points. Thena mumbles a thank you and runs for the stop indicated. She misses the bus by a handful of seconds. It feels like days before the next one arrives. By the time she gets off near the apartment it's almost fifth hour. She thinks about just comming Gregor and going inside; maybe curling up in a fetal position and on the bed. She know she can't though. If he comes home to her like that he'll freak out.

She sprints for the factory. Gregor runs into her, or rather she runs into him, literally, half way there. They're in the middle of the street. There are people everywhere. She is a grown woman who is not about to collapse into her man because someone called her a nasty name. She's not.

"Hey, hey. What's the matter?" He asks.

He's trying to sound casual but she hears how tense he really is. It's too much. She buries her face in the crook of his neck and whispers her story to his jugular vein. He can't possibly hear it but he strokes her hair anyway, and half drags her a few more blocks back the way he'd come. She hauls her face out of his comfortingly damp, salt scented clavicle when it suddenly gets darker. They're under a bunch of huge, old trees.

"Wha?" She sniffs.

"You said you'd come to the park with me. Here's the park."

He smiles a little but it's mostly lost to worry. She tries to smile back.

"Can we walk?" She asks.

"Yeah, c'mon I'll show you what I found."

He all but drags her deeper into the park. It's not quite what she meant by 'walk' but he's eager to get where ever he's going. He stops suddenly and she almost trips over him.

"There."

"It's a...waste disposal unit?"

"Yeah, but also a dead drop. See how no one's around. You stash a pad underneath, mark it with a infrared tab and..."

She's still sweating and her nose is clogged again. The guilt is eating her alive. She feels a rush of hot, angry shame that she's so out of control but that just makes it worse. Gregor's gone pale and silent as he looks at her. He pulls her to a bench.

"Force, what happened _Ten'ika._ Are you...Do we need to leave?"

"No, no. We're fine. You're fine. I...just...I completely _feked_ up the interview and then one of the guys said they didn't want dilutes-"

"One of the guys said what?"

"I'd forgotten..."

"_Ten'ika_ he can't do that. "

"He did Gregor. I was there."

"I-I..." He hugs her, hard, digging his chin into her hair.

"You want me to go murder him for you?" He asks.

She almost says yes but thinks better of it. He might not be joking and they don't need to be hiding a body while also trying to do a spy job.

"No. I'll...I'm sorry. I wanted to help but...Are there any restaurants you saw with openings?"

"I only went to one and I think maybe you shouldn't work there."

"Oh, why?"

"I may have insulted the one of the waitresses by not taking her com-code."

"Oh?"

He's trying to make her forget about that bastard at HQ. It's not really working but she plays along to humor him.

"Yeah. It wasn't such a big deal. She wasn't that cute I think." He continues.

She feels warm, red jealousy bloom in her chest then and realizes Gregor's plan to distract her is actually working. She grimaces at him as he smiles.

"This happens to you often?" She asks, voice carefully neutral. He shrugs with an obviously feigned nonchalance. Jaing would be proud.

"Fairly often. Usually I just let them down gently."

"Usually?" She mutters.

He starts to laugh at her half snarled questions. She feels a smile pulling at her own lips and realizes that she's not sweating anymore.

"Grox." She growls.

"You're so pretty when you get all jealous, how could I resist?"

But she smiles at him anyway and not just because he said she was pretty. He smiles back for a moment and then hugs her again.

"You know I'm just joking right? I'm not sneaking around." He says after a minute, voice serious now.

"I know."

There's something more on the tip of her tongue. She feels words there but she's not sure what they are. She doesn't trust herself to say more when she's still so emotionally wrecked. Gregor doesn't seem to have noticed. He's talking.

"We'll find you someplace to work that's nice. There's all kinds of little places near the apartment. You should loo-"

His com goes off, followed by hers, followed by the pad; which she's forgotten to return, lighting up to show an incoming message.

"What the?" She murmurs, not recognizing the signal. Gregor apparently does because he thumbs on his com without a thought and hisses.

"36, N-10?"

"Negative, N-11. Are you secure?"

Gregor checks around them carefully. Thena starts to get up but he grabs her wrist and shakes his head. He pulls something the looks like a thin stylus out of his pocket and clicks the top twice. There's a soft buzz from her com and the pad and then they go dead.

"Curtain active. We're secure. Go ahead eleven."

"Is the girl with you."

"Affirmative."

"Then tell her to follow directions next time. Her running out of that office nearly blew the op. She wants in on this she does as she's told."

"Hey, eleven or wha-" She starts. But Gregor shakes his head violently at her. She crosses her arms and shuts up; glaring alternately at him and the com.

"Ms. Kuora." the unfamiliar Null barks "I will pull you out myself if you decide to jeopardize this mission further."

"You want to clarify what you're talking about eleven?" Gregor growls, snaking a possessive hand across her leg. Thena feels her chest warm up with a very primal sort of pride.

"Kuora needs to contact Mer-Son R&D ASAP and reassure them that she will not be pressing charges for the comments made by corporate personnel chief Gerrit. She also needs to send the interview documents with the incriminating commentary back to Mer-Son as a condition of her accepting the position."

"What?" She barks in unison with Gregor.

"That's the condition of your hire negotiated by your legal representative. Call them back, tonight. And send back the copies of your interview documents saved on that pad."

Thena doesn't know what to say; is actually seconds away from telling this Null to _kriff _off. Gregor speaks up before she can.

"You set this up didn't you? How?"

Thena blinks, stunned. There is no way anyone is smart enough or slick enough to have set this up. Gregor's putting way too much faith in the Nulls. Then the guy on the other end sighs and says:

"How else do you think we were going to get a half educated waitress into a corporate position so fast? Gerrit's a pro-humanist. He goes to rallies, quietly contributes to the One Society Party."

"That's still a hell of a gamble. How would you have known he'd spit something like that out."

"It's damned helpful to have a saber-jockey on your side every now and then. Bardan worked him up over some ales at lunch."

"I haven't got a lawyer." Thena rasps. That's the one part she can think about for some reason. It's a solid fact in a sudden morass of strangeness.

What?" Gregor asks, turning to her.

"He said that someone, a legal representative, contacted Mer-Son. And that my application with something incriminating on it. I haven't seen my application since I filled it out and I didn't tell anyone about what happened until I saw you twenty minutes ago." She states flatly.

Gregor grinds his teeth for a long moment before speaking.

"I imagine one of them hacked the Mer-Son systems and probably played your lawyer too." He says slowly.

"Yes, clearly Gregor. The reception droid's one of ours too. Mereel's slicer friends put her in two days ago. And as far as the incriminating documentation goes, Gerritt wrote some very unpleasant things in his notes regarding Ms. Kuora. He also happened to save them to the incorrect location, in Ms. Kuora's interview documents rather than his personal files." Responds the Null.

Thena wonders suddenly if it's this Null that did the lawyer impression. He sure as _fek_ sounds scary enough.

"What if she doesn't want to do it now? Is it really wise to antagonize the office and then throw her into that?" Gregor's saying stubbornly.

"Not an option now. You've committed. Follow through. You've got a check in in thirty hours. I don't want to have to talk to you before then."

The com goes dead in Gregor's hand. He blinks at it a couple of times, grimaces and pulls the stylus back out to deactivate the security field. He stands up, dumps everything back in his pockets and rubs hard at his beard.

"Who the hell was that?" Thena snaps.

"Not here. Let's go home."

"No, tell me."

"At. Home."

She's not happy with his sudden caginess but, she reminds herself, that they're on possible enemy ground. She can't see anyone in the fast darkening park but Gregor's clearly taking no chances. She sighs and stands up. She doesn't really want to hold his hand but he grips hers so hard she doesn't really have the option of pulling away as they walk out of the park.

"Who the hell was that?" She asks the moment he's thrown the security scrims on the apartment. He sighs again. He's done that a lot in the ten minute walk back to the building. Sighed and run a hand over his beard and said nothing.

"Ordo"

"Orders, nothing-"  
"No, that's his name. Ordo. He's one of the very serious Nulls. I've only met him once and he's...well he's _shabla_ scary."

Thena's flat shocked to hear Gregor repeat her inner assessment of this Null almost exactly. Gregor's not scared of anything. Not back on Abafar, not when he went off to do Force knew what madness with Kom'rk and Jaing, nothing. He worries and he frets but he doesn't get _scared_. She feels her own fear return full force when she looks up at him and sees his expression.

"So I'm taking that job, whether I ever want to go back to that damned place or not is what you're saying."

She tries to keep the quiver out of her voice but he hears it and looks stricken. It tears at her as she suddenly remembers that he's still new to this too; that he's human and maybe he can be afraid sometimes. She sighs, and takes a deep breath, and squares her shoulders. It's time to be big and bad and brave, for Gregor.

"Okay. Give me a com. I'll go out on the porch and tell them I'll be back tomorrow so long as they make that Gerritt bastard swing in the wind."

"_Ten_-" She holds up a hand. He shuts up.

"You're terrifying pal Order's right. I said I was in so I'm in. But for you okay, not them, not your Republic. Just you. You can keep that to yourself if you want to but I thought you should know."

She hadn't meant to say that; hadn't meant to burden him with that, but in the mess of raw nerves and old pain it had just came out. She's kind of happy it did. This is probably about to be the hardest thing she's ever done, walking back into that office and playing at being a spy. If there is ever going to be a time to say heavy things it's now.

He's silent for a long time, thinking things over. Then he walks back to where she's still standing near the door and hugs her. Just wraps his arms around her and holds on for a long time. No 'thank you,' no 'you're a brave girl.' It's not needed. He holds her and she knows.

He steps back finally and walks her to the balcony door. He opens it like it's the door to a sky-carriage and she's a lady in a fairy tale. She almost expects him to kiss her hand as she steps out onto the stained rockcrete. He doesn't but the look on his face is better than storybook gallantry. He closes the door behind her and steps back into the apartment. She can't hear anything through the sound proofing but she watches him start dinner for a few minutes. It makes her feel brave again for some reason.

She sees that he's already keyed in HQ's com code. She smiles as she presses 'send.'

"Mer-Son Research and Development, how may I direct your call?"

"This is Thena Tahy. I'd like to speak with Deputy Head Arricnak please."


	6. Chapter 6

The plot thickens. It's thickend with extra characters. They're like potatoes in good soup.

Enjoy

* * *

The bar is called Sweet Paseck's. It's the sort of establishment tailored to appeal to a certain type of male coming off a long, tedious day in proto-type testing. Just the males, or the type of female who likes her partners with cheap, tight clothes and improbably enhanced figures. There aren't any of the later Gregor notes. He wonders if it's just that the females who like their own gender in the department are more sensible or if they don't feel welcome in the clouds of testosterone.

He doesn't feel totally comfortable himself when he gets right down to the meat of it. The place reminds him too much of Beerkin's. True the women look less beat down and the air of barely suppressed desperation and violence is mostly missing but in the end it's still a sleazy flesh-bar and that's enough. He's seen where this road ends and he doesn't like it.

But he's still here tonight because he's got a job to do. He's been on The Line, as it's called colloquially, for two weeks and this is his first social invitation from a co-worker. Crent had clapped him on the shoulder during their lunch break hard enough to rattle Gregor's teeth and invited him out to the 'pub' for a celebratory round. At first Gregor almost refused. He's promised to talk with Thena about bugging the head of Research's office.

She'd called him ten minutes after reaching her office that morning desk and told him that she now had a solid lead and that they should definitely bug the place. But Crent's celebration is in honor of the completion of third stage testing on a new electromagnetic grenade design, exactly the kind of thing a Sep plant would love to know about. So He'd waved Thena an pre-emptive apology for coming home late and agreed to accompany Crent to the pub.

So far it's been one of his less productive ideas. He still hardly knows anyone and so he's had the same conversation about a dozen times so far. Most people are curious about where he's come from but don't want to get too friendly. So he runs down his back story over and over and over. He tries to ask questions himself sometimes but the answers he gets sound equally rehearsed and vague.

After an hour or so he's at the bar trying to get a non-alcholic drink and starting to wonder if maybe everyone else is a SAPINT asset too. They're all here trying to extract information out of one another about the dark, dirty goings on of Mer-Son while in reality none of them knows anything because they're all maintaining a cover. It's amusing to think about; much better than wondering if this is what normal civilians are actually like.

"Hiding Gregor?"Shouts Crent from somewhere behind and to the left of him. Gregor manages to turn his instinctual twitch toward his hip holster, which he isn't wearing of course, into a surprised looking startle.

"Crent, you...I didn't see you." Crent beams, clearly several drinks down already.

"No worries. How are you finding it? Haven't made friends yet I see."

Gregor's worked out that it's generally better to let the garrulous Crent arrive at his point on his own. He shrugs and sips the watered down beer the barman's finally put in front of him and waits. Crent doesn't disappoint.

"Well they're a colorless lot. Come with me lad, I'll introduce you to someone with a bit more personality.

Gregor sincerely hopes this isn't some veiled attempt to set him up with one of the costumed bar-girls but he'll have to cross that bridge when he gets to it. He grabs his glass and follows the older man through the crush of patrons toward the back of the room. He's relieved to see Crent raise a hand to a small, dark haired man with a neat chin-strap beard leaning on the far wall.

"Gregor this is Alain Herrox. He's over on five line."

"'Rox Gregor's come in from MandalMotors."

Herrox, who's been looking somewhere between bored and hostile since they'd walked up suddenly brightens a bit and offers a hand to Gregor.

"Did you? I was on Keldabe for three years, Mer-Son liaison." He says in a strangely scratchy, high pitched voice.

Gregor breathes out and takes another sip of beer to buy himself time.

"I've never been to Keldabe. I'm from Concordia." He lies, hoping that Herrox hadn't made it to that particular backwater. He's in luck.

"Oh, yeah, they did have a weapons testing crew over there didn't they? Can't say they ever let me near the place though."

"Yeah, don't think they would." Gregor isn't quite sure why he's said that; where he's going with this but something about Herrox is rubbing him wrong. It might just be the spillover of his annoyance with the lack of movement on this job but for some reason he just feels hostile toward the other man.

"Oh yeah?" Herrox drawls, dark eyebrows drawing down to a point over his nose. With the beard makes him seem sort of sinisterly fey. Gregor shrugs, reminding himself sternly to behave, that he doesn't need enemies here. He gets himself under some control and manages an answer that sounds more bored than rude.

"It's not like they just let anyone wander through their testing department. Didn't want to lose their edge right?" Crent laughs too loudly, clearly wanting to diffuse the tension that's humming around them. Herrox's frown deepens.

"Neither do we." He says.

Gregor catches his drift and feels a current of electici-cold adrenaline pulse behind his eyes. Oh, so that's what it is. He feels a little better now that he can tell what's setting him on edge about this other man. Herrox suspects him. Probably not of what he 's actually up to but the man clearly doesn't trust Gregor. Okay, this he can deal with; this he was trained for. He needs to throw Herrox off a bit and make sure that, even if the man doesn't like him, that the dislike will seem irrational. When in doubt, as Kom'rk likes to remind him, tell at least sixty percent of the truth.

"You think I'm trying to steal your work Herrox?" He asks, letting his eyes smile while his tone stays hard. It works. Herrox glowers like a boy caught in some mischief by a teacher.

"I didn't say that." He snaps petulantly. "But why'd you leave Mandal anyway?"

Gregor feels an unpleasant smile pulling at his mouth. He lets it show.

"Mandalorians aren't as into weapons as they once were it seems. We've decided to try fighting war a new way this time. Or not fight one, as it were."

Crent looks uncomfortable, his ruddy skin now even pinker but Herrox is no longer frowning. He's smiling, in an oily, reptilian sort of manner.

"You into all that then? That warrior-race stuff of theirs?"

Gregor shakes his head. Letting his face go blank and then grimacing like the very thought is annoying.

"I haven't got any mando armor or that and I don't do mercenary work." Which is all true, mostly. "I don't care about what the Keldabe types think. But I make guns, not farm equipment."

"Good work when there's a war on." Herrox almost purrs.

Gregor shrugs again.

"Not when you decide to commit economic suicide by not trading with either side."

"You a political man?" Herrox asks, clearly trying to sound nonchalant.

It's the second time that subject's come up. First Hui asked and now Herrox. It's understandable, Gregor's made a comment about his disagreement with the New Mandalorians' neutrality but now he's absolutely certain there's something more to the question. As a clone he can read micro-expressions better than most humans and his already observant nature's been kicked into high gear by this mission. The tenseness around the mouth, the sudden flicks of the eyes; neither the foreman nor Herrox are asking idly. He feels his heart rate kick up as he recognizes what all this means.

It's an in, a way down into what's really, maybe going on below the polite surface of the Testing line. He almost grins but stops himself just in time. Instead, speaking in a cautious drawl that he hopes conveys interest in more information without being too obvious.

"I've got a wife and maybe someday I want a family. Hard to get that when you're building tractors nobody wants."

"But isn't peace preferable to war?"

"When was there peace? Because I've only ever worked on a weapons line and we had quite the number of orders before the supposed peace ended."

Herrox's oily smile is going unctuous and his eyes are glittering weirdly. He obviously thinks he's found a sympathetic ear. Gregor doesn't let his expression change even as he crows inside; almost got him.

"There's always scum that needs cleaning up isn't there?" Herrox chuckles.

"Doesn't matter to me as long as I get paid." Gregor shoots back.

"But what about when those in charge fust about and vote to cut your throat?"

Yes, that's it, walk right into it _mer'sheb _Gregor thinks. But he doesn't want to overplay his advantage. He pretends to hesitate.

"That's not the way of it."

"Isn't it?" Hisses Herrox.

"Alain old son, this is a drinking night." Crent breaks in suddenly.

His voice is jovial but Gregor picks up something under it, a kind of tension that's not really like worry; more of a warning. Gregor expects Herrox to object or at least brush Crent off as a drunken nuisance but the younger man doesn't say anything. He just shrugs and goes back to frowning at the room in general as though the conversation with Gregor had never happened. Crent slings an arm across Gregor's shoulders and pulls him back toward the bar.

"Herrox talks a lot of rot. He's hot-headed. Don't let him chat you into a fight."

Gregor's miffed at the interruption. Just when he was getting somewhere. He shrugs off Crent's arm.

"Better talking about something than nothing at all." He snaps, not able to control his anger.

Crent's smile doesn't waiver; it's as fixed as it was when he stepped between Gregor and Herrox. Gregor starts to sweat, feeling the cold wetness on his spine that has nothing to do with the number of people crammed into this small space. Then Crent's smile changes, gets a little smaller but his eyes take on a light, an expression that wasn't in them before. Gregor's not fast enough to process what that momentary expression might mean because Crent suddenly scoops a pair of men seemingly out of thin air. The cadaverous looking one with the watery brown eyes is Crent's companion from the diner weeks ago, Kai. The other's a stranger.

"Gregor, Mertis Kai, who you've met, and Auxal Madan who you haven't. They're a bit less...well they're not quite like Herrox. Sorry about that. Much better conversation, I'm sure."

And with that Crent vanishes into the crowd again, leaving Gregor with his new acquaintances.

"How're you finding it?" Asks Kai at length.

"Good, work's good." Gregor answers.

It's loud here toward the center of the room, he has to shout to be heard. Conversation has to be conducted in short, auto-fire bursts to compete with the noise.

"That's good," bellows Kai. "How's your -"

"I'm sorry what?" Gregor calls back.

"Why don't we go outside?" Shouts Madan. "I can't hear a _kriffing_ thing."

They shuffle outside, leaving their empty glasses on a table as they go. It's chilly after the too-warm crush inside and Gregor finds himself wishing for a jacket. Kai too stands rubbing is arms while Madan immediately lights a cigarette. He offers the pack around politely. Kai declines but Gregor takes one, wanting to clutch it for warmth more than anything else.

"How's your girl." Asks Kai suddenly. Gregor blinks.

"Sorry?" He asks when Madan makes it clear that he's not going to respond to the question.

"Your girl. You couldn't hear me in there. You said you had one before right?" Kai repeats.

"Oh, yeah. She's good." Gregor answers, hesitating slightly.

"She here?"Asks Madan, still staring pensively into the night.

"Yeah, uh, she's been here for a few weeks."

"Ugh, I should go home." Grunts Madan aprops of nothing; attempting to light his cigarette.

Gregor obligingly stands in the wind in front of him. He nods in thanks and offers the light. Gregor savors the warmth of the flame on his face as he leans in for a moment. He remembers not to inhale too deeply, lest he start coughing, as he cups the glowing stick in his palm.

"Crent said she's working in the Head Office?" Prompts Kai, ignoring Madan's outburst. Gregor shifts uncomfortably, wondering why this man wants to know so much about Thena.

"Yeah." He replies at length.

"Ah, you should have her keep you." Laughs Madan smokily, "why're you working at all with a pay packet like that coming in? Me, I'd just loaf about and let her do the hard work."

Gregor bristles a little but forces a smile as Kai laughs too.

"I want to work." He grinds out. Madan shrugs, shakes his head and smokes on.

"Fair enough mate." He finally replies.

"You really like it?" Asks Kai.

"What?"

"Working. The line. You really like it?" Gregor isn't quite sure how to respond. Kai sounds slightly incredulous.

"Sure. I mean what else am I going to do?"

"It's pretty dull though." Kai says.

"Try washing dishes." Gregor shoots back before he can stop himself. Madan laughs again and lights another cigarette off the stub of his old one.

"It does beat that." He allows. Kai nods.

"Yeah, I mean it's not like we're assembly line droids. You're right." He agrees.

"What you grousing for?" Madan asked Kai. "Hui riding you again?"

"Nah, I'm just..."

"Here it comes." Mutters Madan. Gregor's looks at him, confused. He only motions with his cigarette toward Kai. Who's still talking.

"...don't get me wrong, I appreciate it but I mean what's the point?"

"The point?" Gregor asks, still unclear as to what is going on here.

"To all this. To making and selling guns."

"Profit?" Madan asks ironically.

"You know what I mean." Snaps Kai but he keeps going. Gregor's not sure if it's for his benefit or just to keep talking.

"We sell the guns and then what's to stop our customers selling them off to the very people we were supposedly arming them against in the first place?"

"The Army of the Republic is not selling weapons to the Se-Alliance." Answers Gregor, a bit testily.

"Well what about the other ones then?" Kai presses stubbornly.

"It's not our job to worry about what one Weequay clan does to another." Sighs Madan, exhaustedly.

"Why do we sell to them at all then?"

"We sell to Corellia and Anaxes too."

"That's different."

"Why is that?" Gregor interjects.

"Because. Because that's a civilized population isn't it?" Kai answers, as though it's ridiculously obvious.

"Meaning what?" Gregor asks, trying to sound curious rather than alarmed or angry.

Gregor's got a bad feeling about this conversation. He's never really had to think about why one set of sentients might not like another; until Thena anyway. He's never seen Thena as anything but, well, Thena. He hadn't had a set of physical ideals firmly in mind when he'd met her. Abafar, for all its many faults, was also a pretty free-wheeling place as far as species relations went.

There had never been any hint of a problem or that his being with a half-human was somehow improper. Humans were rare on Abafar and the non-humans tended to be as interested in other species as much their own half the time, thus why Mi Syung had been one of the highest earning whores in the city. But ever since Thena'd come back from her interview and told him about the vile things that had been said to her he's become sensitive. He's started to see pro-human bias everywhere. And now he's seeing it in Kai's speech.

"They obey law for one thing. They don't just wantonly kill each other. I mean you or I could go live there no problem but if we tried to live with a Weequay clan, or work for a Hutt? C'mon we'd probably be eaten."

"Just because they're human..." Gregor starts

"Whoa, whoa, hey I'm not a humanist man." Kai says, holding his hands up. "I've got a Duros friend."

"We sell to Duro." Madan points out.

"Exactly." Kai says, seizing on to the comment like a lifeline. "Duros are civilized too, so're, say Twi'leks."

"And easy on the eyes." Chuckles Madan.

"All I'm saying is we make some dangerous stuff, right? So why should we sell it to dangerous, untrustworthy types?"

"How would you stop your guns being sold though, after you've finished with them?" Gregor asks, still wary, but curious as to where Kai was going with this line of reasoning.

"With proper law enforcement. Control, you know, order."

"Isn't that what the Republic has?" Asks Gregor.

He knows it's fishing of the most obvious sort but it's just too good a chance to pass up. Kai shrugs.

"I suppose but it's...it's not the best is it?"

"Well once we win the glorious war we shall have a return to peace and prosperity and all that rot." Huffs Madan. His third cigarette is rapidly going out as the flame reaches the filter.

"Well revolutionaries I'm done for the night. Can I offer anyone a ride home? Gregor?" He continues.

Kai's already turning back toward the warm glow of Paseck's. The opportunity's lost. Gregor admits defeat.

"Yeah, thanks Madan." He says. "Let me grab my coat."

* * *

"There is something seriously wrong with that man. I thought at first it was just me. I mean I'm apparently replacing someone who left under...mysterious and/or abrupt circumstances and then the way I all but blackmailed them into giving me the job. But Arricnak is fine, very nice but not too nice if you follow my meaning. Also I am completely naked right now, except for the sparkly nipple tassels which I am twirling as I shimmy."

"What was that?"

Gregor hadn't meant to drift off while Thena was telling him about her suspicions regarding her boss. But he's still trying to unpack the conversations with Herrox and Madan and Kai. Now Thena's standing, fully clothed, hands on her hip, glaring at him. He smiles ruefully and rubs at the back of his neck.

"Sorry _Ten'ika_. I was thinking about something else." He says, sheepishly.

She sighs, rolls her eyes, and walks over to where he's sitting in front of the primary transmitter pad in the 'office.' He should be completing a report for the Nulls but he's just been staring at the screen for the past half and hour. Thena'd noticed and come in to talk to him about her findings. Now she breaths audibly through her nose and sits down in his lap to show he's at least marginally forgiven.

"What happened tonight baby?" She asks.

He lets his head rest against her chest as she starts to rub the tense muscles of his neck.

"Mmm, it was just...weird."

"Weird how?"

"I don't...I think I may have found someone with Sep leanings but I couldn't talk to him much. Crent, the one I told you about, the kind of unofficial sergeant to Hui? He steered me away from the guy pretty quick."

There's silence in the room except for Gregor's occasional grunt as Thena's strong fingers find a particularly recalcitrant knot in his levator muscle. She's rubbing thoughtfully, taking time to consider what to say. Finally, she speaks.

"Well...some people just talk. Did this other man, the one with maybe Sep sympathies, seem capable of what you suspect is going on or is he just a malingerer?"

"I don't know. He didn't seem popular. I mean Crent introduced me but that may have been because nobody else was talking to the guy and Crent's a mother-nuna type if I ever saw one."

Thena chuckles and starts to un-clasp his work shirt to get better access to his trapezius. He helps her undo the snaps as well as the fasteners on his wrists. She pushes the cloth off his shoulders to leave him in just his white undershirt. She has to shift a little to reach, ending up straddling one of his legs. He drops his hands to her hips to stabilize her as she gets to work on the muscles over his shoulder blade.

"Is that it?" She asks. Gregor climbs out of the reverie her hands are putting him in and shakes his head slowly.

"No, then I had a smoke with a couple of other guys."

"Ah, I was wondering why you smelled."

He pinches her bottom gently and she laughs.

"It was cold and a SAPINT resource must blend in." He reminds her primly.

"Of course. So what did they say?"

"Not much. One was very..."

"Very what?"

He sits up straighter. She stops her massage as he looks at her.

"Ten'ika, I'm...I don't want to upset you but...have you seen much of that pro-human sentiment since...since your interview? Maybe on the streets, flyers or overheard conversation?"

She cocks her head to the right and looks at him carefully. Her eyes seem very black in the dim light.

"Did one of them say something along those lines?"

"Not exactly. One of them, Kai, was going on about law and order and not selling weapons to 'uncivilized' people."

Thena nods thoughtfully.

"That's pretty normal I think, not anti-xen. I remember on Nar Shadda these missionaries that used to come in from somewhere further in-rim and preach about the glories of the Republic and how we'd all be protected from criminal scum if we only rose up and joined them."

"That sounds like what the Seps are supposed to be doing."

"I think everybody does it. Because it's easy to tell one group of people that another one's bad and evil and scary and if only they'd sign over their lives then the big, strong protector will save them."

"So you don't think he's pro-human?"

"He could be, maybe. A lot of the pro-human groups say similar things too."

"Well he did say that he had a Duros friend."

Thena snorts.

"Yeah they've _all_ got a Duros friend or dated a Zeltron at school or something."

"So you think he's really not good?"

"He's probably fine, most people aren't, like, vicious about it. They just never really think about what they're saying or who they're following if they've got that feeling of being protected."

"I get it. He does seem like follower."

"Yeah, I think most people are."

"You're not though." He says suddenly, flinching at it as it leaves his mouth.

He'd had the urge to say something nice to Thena. He's been asking her about a topic that's got to be uncomfortable after all and instead of saying something meaningful he comes out with that. Thena smiles at him.

"I follow you into stupid spy missions."

"Yeah, I actually meant to say you're pretty or brilliant or something." He admits.

She smirks and presses her forehead to his.

"Oh, well you can just do that next time."

"So, tell me about your boss then, my lovely, clever woman." He says before he gets to distracted by the feeling of her breath ghosting across his lips. She grins and hops up to pace the room as she talks.

"He does everything we talked about. He comes and goes at odd hours, and it's not just because he's a high and mighty. Arricnak is completely exasperated by him, by how he's never around. I've heard him muttering when he comes out of Sym's office. That's his name by the way since you weren't listening, Raslion Livvet. Anyway, he also probably did something to the last assistant. She's left after less than a year and nobody knows where she is. Maybe he murdered her, okay, he probably didn't murder her but it's still strange. And he's got access to every single file of every single proto-type the company makes."

"So what do you want to do?" Gregor asks slowly, not sure he got everything in that rush of words.

"I don't know. Do we follow him somewhere or stakeout his house or something? We could bug his office, you've got all this stuff."

"Yeah. We could."

"Wait, which?"

"Well, all of them if we need to. But let's start with the bugging. I can't transmit that much data from here but I'll let the Nulls know to lookout for a dead drop if we get anything. Good job Ten'ika."

She beams.

"Can I help with the bugging. I just got paid and I have a sudden urge to buy a cat-suit with my very first paycheck."

Gregor laughs.

"Um, I don't think you need that for planting bugs. But, don't let me stop you from getting whatever skintight clothing you want."

"Oh, well. Okay then. How do we plant bugs if not by creeping about dressed all in black at night?"

"If you come back over here and sit in my lap I'll tell you."

So she does and he does.


	7. Chapter 7

The assistant leaves at ten minutes past the hour. The transitional season is progressing quickly now and the sun is already halfway set; the air chilly and dry. She walks bent slightly forward into the wind, head down, coat clutched around her. When she stops to wait for her airbus the wind eddies up around her, blowing the yellow and ink-purple leaves in rising spirals. She keeps her head down but the wind grabs her dark hair from the loosened pins that have kept it in place all day; tears strands of it free and tries to thread leaves through it. The golden yellow ones shimmer brighter in contrast and the purples pick out sympathetic glints in the normally unrelieved blackness of her hair.

The bus screams to a halt on its repulsor brakes. The assistant shakes the leaves free of her hair and clambers into the dead atmosphere of the interior as fast as she can. The bus pulls away. The air-eddies have nothing to climb now. They sink slowly to the street, dejectedly blowing the leaves and dust into new patterns on the pavement.

The sun dips low, falling behind the unseen horizon. Its last rays shoot up the building the obstruct its view across the globe; painting them deep red and violent orange. With this final, visual gasp the sun falls down toward eastern hemisphere leaving the west in shadow. The lights in the surrounding building shine on for some time, making the glass and permacrete seem like transparent jewel boxes in the deepening dark. Then, one by one, the lights start to go out. Private speeders trickle away into the outer reaches of the city as the offices clear. The wind prowls around the increasingly empty plaza below the tall towers until it is alone moaning and growling to itself in the empty shadows.

* * *

An hour passes with the wind playing, lonesome in the plaza. Then a man appears. He does not come by private speeder or airbus. He seems simply to materialize out of the night and cross the plaza. The wind follows him at a discreet distance, playing with the leaves a step and a half behind him but not straying too close. Another person is leaving the tallest of the buildings. The first man approaches this one. The person from the building, heavyset with low slung facial horns jutting from his jaw, pauses to question the newcomer. The wind creeps up on them.

"Where's Pym?"

"Ill I think. I got a call not an hour ago."

"You're the emergency crew?"

"I am."

"I've not seen you before."

"They said there'd never been a call out for here."

"Damn right. I'm going to call and check with Daarsen. Is that a problem for you?"

"Be my guest."

The man from the building, the horned one, pulls out a small, personal com unit. The new one, the human who came out of the night, stands and waits, calmly watching the wind worry the leaves at the edges of the deeper shadow. The horned man grunts and tucks the com away.

"Apparently Pym's et something that's disagreed with him fierce." Says the horned man. The human grunts. The horned man continues.

"You know what to do then?"

"Watch the cameras. Do a walk up every two hours or so. I'm relieved at three."

"Right, just see that you don't touch anything on them walk ups."

The human doesn't respond. The horned man gives him a set of metal keys and a pair of auto- styluses. The human still says nothing. The horned man stalks off. The human smiles and begins to whistle softly as he unlocks the door to the tallest building.

The wind can't resist and races up behind him, eager to explore the new void of the lobby. But the man pushes the door shut too fast for more than the barest breath to streak inside, carrying only one, lonely, ink colored leaf. The man pauses as the rest of the wind clatters against the glass with leaves and twigs; bends down and picks up the dark leaf. He holds it up to examine, turning it left and right, tilting it up and down in the cold, chemical glare of the interior lights. He must find something pleasing about it, it's perfect tetralobed shape maybe or the way the dark staining of the dying tissue is broken up by threads of stubborn green. He tucks the leaf into an interior pocket of his drab jacket and walks to the security desk in the center of the floor and types something into the desk keypad before sitting down.

* * *

Two hours pass quietly. The man reads from a portable pad at the desk. Then one of the cameras monitoring the fourth floor goes out. The all of the cameras on the tenth go dark. The man looks up at the revolving bank of feeds from the cameras and swears. One by one the security cameras on floors four through ten fail. The man gets up, pauses to type a code into the main monitor at his station and walks toward the back of the lobby. He pulls open a section of wall marked with a simple circle crossed with two green, horizontal lines to reveal the dark guts of the building. He goes into the maintenance section and pulls the door closed behind him.

The man starts to climb the long access stairway. The service lights are only half as bright as those in the lobby and there are half as many of them. That leaves long swathes of shadow along the stairs that seem thicker than they should be, solid almost. Certainly they seem to swallow the faint sound of whistling as the man climbs.

He carefully checks each access door as he passes, making sure all are locked from the inside, accessible only to someone with the proper keys or codes. He walks to the fourth floor, then the fifth, the sixth and on to the tenth. Which he passes by without more than the customary pause to check the door. He whistles as he climbs up and up into the shadows.

By the time he reaches his destination the whistling is more of a stubborn wheeze. Even for an exceptionally fit man the hundred and forty four flights of stairs are quite a lot. There's no light showing through the seams of the door on this floor but he still waits for a few seconds to let his heart rate drop and then a few more to listen for any furtive movements on the other side.

He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small, silvered hoop. With a grimace he pushes it through a fresh hole in his left earlobe. He twists the hoop until he feels the built-in sub-audio sensors thrum gently through his skull. He waits, feeling for the extra twinge that should alert him to active bugs already in place.

There's nothing. He opens the door slowly. Only the green security lights illuminate the reception area. He reaches for the stylus the horned man had given him but stops, thumb hovering over the button. He tucks it back into his pocket without pressing it. Some things are better done in the dark. He pulls out a small lumo-wand, turns it on and ambles toward the back of the suite.

The first office is still unoccupied, former territory of the un-lamented Gerrit Hessak. The man pauses to leave a nasty scratch on the wood of the door out of vindictive pettiness before continuing to the third, largest office. He slips inside, tucks the lumo-wand between his teeth and gets to work unlatching the plaz casings of the desk mounted data process unit, the wired com and the bank on monitors. He even unscrews the knobs of one of the desk draws and places a wafer thin audio transmitter behind the glass veneer. He doesn't bother with visual bugs yet. Those are much harder to hide, best wait until there's proof of something worth recording.

He slips into the second office and repeats the process. This one lacks the top of the line glass-fronted desk. Instead he tucks his transmitter in the name plate holder, behind the plaz marker that reads Arricnak. Next he unscrews a few of the light bulbs at random and slips in his secondary audio system. This one is combination record and transmit and he's been guaranteed by his handlers that this one is undetectable to all conventional bug-sweepers. The sound quality is much lower but that's the trade off. He'll only actually activate these in the event of a failure or discovery of the primary system.

He pauses at the desk in the hallway, across from the three offices. There's very little in the way of personal effects on it, a plant with shiny pink leaves, a chipped mug that looks like it was originally from a low-rent diner and a thin, blue button up sweater draped over the back of the chair. He hesitates a moment longer than begins planting his devices here too.

* * *

Elsewhere in the huge building a turbo-lift whirs to life. It descends from the ninetieth floor, buttons lighting up at each stop between there and floor seventy-five. From floor seventy-five to one there are no buttons, the lift does not stop here, the shaft has no openings before the seventy fifth floor. Residents of the upper floors are supposed to be kept segregated from the offices below. In theory. The theory breaks down when someone who can afford the exorbitant rent on the upper floors also happens to work in one of the offices below. But even this lucky person has to change lifts.

The private residence elevator bumps to a stop and dispenses a tall, youngish, sandy-haired man in an exquisitely tailored suit. He glances around and is pleased to find the security attendant absent from his post. The sandy-haired man walks quickly to the corporate lifts, gets in and pushes the button for the seventy second floor. He adjusts his cuffs, checks his collar and grimaces as the car whirs to a halt.

The absent security guard hears the lift chime as it opens in the reception area of the office on the seventy second floor. He's just finished putting the cover back on the wired com-set at the assistant's station. He looks around in panic. There's nowhere to hide. The desk is open, no place to go underneath and he probably wouldn't fit anyway. He leaps over the top of the desk and dives into the Gerrit's former office with half a second to spare before the lights in the suite come up.

The sandy-haired man walks into the executive suite and opens the door to the central office. He doesn't notice the shadow in Geritt's dark, former office flattening itself against the wall.

The data processing unit at the assistant's station suddenly lights up. It clicks and whirrs and clunks and the replacement security guard, the man who's not supposed to be anywhere near this building, let alone in this office, realizes he's not fully secured the front casing. The data units clicks louder, the internal mechanisms recognizing that there's something wrong. The unit begins to beep softly. The replacement guard is of half a mind to scurry out and close it. The door to the middle office is closed, he could make it.

The door to the middle office opens. So does the one to the outer suite. The assistant dashes in just as the sandy-haired man, in a different shirt now, steps out.

"Sorry!" the assistant squeaks, a little too loudly. The sandy-haired man says nothing but looks put-upon.

"I...forgot my sweater. Got all the way home and realized it wasn't in my bag." She babbles inanely, rushing to the chair and grabbing the blue cardigan.

"You could have gotten it tomorrow." The sandy-haired man grouses. "Security gets tetchy when we're constantly in and out of the office after nine."

"Sorry." She says. "But I'm off tomorrow and I...couldn't do without it."

The sandy-haired man doesn't quite roll his eyes. His tone is dismissive when he speaks.

"Good night Thena."

"Good night Mr. Livvet." She responds brightly, as though she hasn't noticed his annoyance

The sandy-haired man retreats into the office, closing the door again. Thena waits until the door latched and then snaps the cover securely back onto the still beeping processor. She looks around for a moment before Gregor pulls the door to Gerrt's former office open. He hold his finger to his lips. She nods and motions toward the suite door, eyes still on Livvet's office. Gregor slips out into the reception area. He considers going back down all those stairs but opts not to. Instead he gets into the lift with Thena.

"Won't this end up on the security feeds?" She whispers in alarm as the lift glides down.

"I've got an over-ride and false record in place. I'll put it in as soon as I get back to the desk."

"_Kriff_, I almost fainted when I saw Livvet come out of the private lifts and head up here."

"How'd you get in the front door?"

"Security pass, works at all hours. There's supposed to be a man at the desk to screen visitors...but he seems to have abandoned his post."

"You're funny. But thank you. Good work."

"You're still off at three?"

"Yes."

"I've got the speeder two blocks back from where I let you off, by that old temple."

"Got it."

The lift stops. Gregor wants to kiss Thena goodbye, to touch her in some way but she's bouncing slightly manically from foot to foot and pointedly staying just out of easy reach. He lets her walk out with just a nod. She smiles at him and almost runs out the door. He crosses to the security desk, types in the series of override codes and inserts dummy footage into cameras aurek through grek on floor seventy two. He then undoes the virus he introduced upon logging in that threw off the cameras on floors four through ten. He checks the pin transmitter in his ear hoop. Thena helped him pierce his ear yesterday. It's less conspicuous than an ear piece, though also less powerful. He can hear the soft beeps its transmitting through his cartilage. The bugs are working. He'll check the feed when he gets back to the apartment. For now; for the next five and a half hours, all he can do is wait.

Outside the wind grumbles in the empty plaza like a sleepy child still insistent that it isn't time for bed.

* * *

Thena almost shoots him when he taps on the speeder's window a few minutes after three. She'd fallen asleep with his blaster in her lap. Lucky for him she's as quick to recognize a friend and react to potential danger. He climbs into the passenger seat, exhausted after the day's shift and the alternate terror and grinding boredom of tonight's impromptu security moonlighting.

"How's Pym?" He manages to ask, as his eyes slide closed.

He'd gotten the poor man's address from Thena, who'd shamelessly flirted with the night guard for more than a week to find it out. The mild neurotoxin the man had ingested in his food yesterday morning was supposed to be side-effect free, just terrible vomiting for twenty four hours and then it was flushed out of the system.

"I think he's fine. I didn't actually see him when I went by his place. His girlfriend looked disgusted but managed to be all jealous and yell at him as soon as I left so he can't be dying."

"Okay, good."

Gregor wants to feel guilty about poisoning, even temporarily, an innocent bystander but he just too damned wiped out at the moment. The ride back to the apartment is over before he realizes the speeder's moving. Thena hectors him up and out of the rented vehicle. He stumbles up the stairs after her. Somehow he ends up in the bedroom but can't even muster enough energy to help her as she pulls his boots, trousers, jacket and shirt off. He just sits on the bed and follows orders to raise this or that limb.

He sort of rallies sometime later when she crawls into bed.

"_Ten'ika_?"

"Hmm?"

"What was your boss doing in the private area and then back in the office so late?"

"No idea. Maybe it'll be in your recordings. I told you he was dodgy."

"Mmph." He agrees.

* * *

Two days later, after they've both spent a full day recovering and learning to effectively use the recordings equipment, Gregor's certain that Thena's right about Livvet. The man is definitely up to something. The question is what. It's frustratingly unclear.

Livvet's cagey. He makes a number of com calls to an apartment in the same building as the office but he never conveys useful information. He says things like, 'the usual time', 'I'm going to Gred's', 'I need to talk to you'. There's never any calls back. Whoever he's meeting he's doing it off company property. Gregor's having Thena keep careful track of when Livvet leaves and where he says he's going. They've checked out several of the places mentioned and it turns out Livvet only shows up where he says he's going to be about half the time.

But that doesn't tell them what he's doing; where he is the other half of the time, anything. They need to press their advantage, they need to follow him, or have someone else follow him. To that end Gregor's been comming the Nulls for help. They're not answering. He'd tried Prudii first. Technically Prudii's his handler for this op, or so the man told him. But Prudii's out of range. So he tried Jaing, nothing. Nothing from Kom'rk either or Ordo or even Mereel, who Gregor still hasn't met in person but has com codes for from Prudii.

He types up a full report of the previous week's activities and sends it on the secure channel. No one coms him back, except for the automated positive receipt message that lets him know the data is at least secure. So the op's not blown. That much is obvious in the fact that neither he nor Thena have been arrested or murdered yet. He waits a day and sends another packet requesting permission to extend the mission from passive to active data gathering. Nothing but the auto-response comes back.

Thena's been asked to work late by Arricnak. So he's alone now, lurking in the second bedroom cum office with a bowl of stewed something or other from a can. He's supposed to be eating it. He promised Thena he wouldn't skip supper. Mostly though, he listening to Arricnak talk to Thena about some social function that she is helping him plan for the company.

"-largest of course is in the spring cycle, seven months now and, thank Sol we don't have to plan that one but this upcoming thing in less than a week."

Arricnak's voice is a light tenor, rounded on the vowels. He's got a rapid delivery, especially when he's nervous. It makes him sound almost boyish though Gregor thinks he must be nearly seventy. Thena is very fond of him, says he's always kind to her, speaks to her like an equal, requests work from her rather than demanding it. Everyone Gregor's asked, even in passing, has good things to say about Deputy Arricnak. The man's almost loved by his subordinates. It makes Gregor wonder why he's just a deputy director rather than in charge of R&D. Something else strange to look into.

In his earphones he hears Thena respond to the implied question in Arricnak's last statement.

"The museum has already confirmed the booking, as have the caterers. GeeEn tells me the responses to the invitations are ninety four percent complete and eighty-seven percent of the respondents are coming." She says.

"How many is that?"

"One hundred and fifteen but I've asked GeeEn to round up to one twenty at least."

"Good, and the caterers know?"

"Yes sir, And the museum event staff, and the security."

"Good, good. I'm sorry I just..."

"It's understandable sir. Has the Director mentioned anything specific he'd like?"

Thena's voice seems very careful to Gregor as he listens in. Like she's tense but trying very hard not to sound it. He grits his teeth, worried that Arricnak is going to notice it and question her but the Deputy just sighs.

"He hasn't. I appreciate your being delicate about all of this but you know he hasn't been involved in the planning of this even at any point."

Thena says nothing. Arricnak sighs so loudly that Gregor hears it.

"I apologize Thena. It's not right that I burden you with this."

Thena stays silent but she must do something, motion at Arricnak or something, because he laughs softly and responds to her unspoken reply.

"No, you're not a sounding board for my frustrations, though I know I'm guilty of using you as one. This is...he's different. Before I felt...well I'm just not sure about what he wants out of this company anymore."

"I'm sure it's just a passing thing sir. Personal issues."

Arricnak' s chuckle is uncharacteristically cynical.

"Indeed. But that's not something we need to discuss. Have you got the layout and the changes to seating charts we discussed?"

"It's all noted down. I'll give them to the events director tomorrow afternoon at our meeting."

"Good, excellent. Thank you. I've kept you too long, go home."

"Thank you sir."

"Not at all. Oh, Thena?"

"Yes Deputy Director?"

"We will be seeing you at this event won't we? I haven't met your husband yet and Mirna is very eager to be introduced to you."

"I don't know sir...my husband's not much for this kind of party."

"Ask him though will you? I find most men will put up with all manner of indignities to see their wives in attractive dresses."

"Really sir?"

"I've been married to Mirna for forty years and I still do."

"I'll ask him sir. Good night."

"Good night."

* * *

Thena walks into the apartment thirty minutes later and cocks an eyebrow at Gregor. He's sitting on the sofa attempting to read an inane novel.

"Well?" She says when he doesn't respond.

"Well?"

"Yes or no, are you coming?"

"I think there's should be more to that question."

"You have recordings of everything that goes on in that office. You heard what Arricnak wants."

"Maybe I haven't listened to them yet."

"Then why are you trying to read that awful, old flimsi novel the landlady gave you instead? Looking for romantic tips?"

"Er..."

The book was rather lurid when it came to sex. He'd already gotten through one scene that had quite a number of descriptions of throbbing and pulsing and clawing that were a little much. Thena snorts at his lack of response before collapsing next to him on the couch.

"Give me that. I want to see what's so fascinating that you're neglecting your work."

"I'm not neglecting anything." He grouses, fending off her attempts to grab the flim-book with one hand.

"Ha, you admit it! So are you coming with me to this party or not?"

Gregor sighs and lets her snatch the book from him.

"I haven't got anything appropriate to wear. And I'm not buying something I'll only wear once."

"Me neither. They rent out fancy rigs for these things."

"Rent out?"

"Sweet Force, this author either morphs a wild narglatch in bed or she's never gotten laid."

"Thena..."

She stops teasing and looks at him.

"Is something wrong?" She asks, eyes wide and worried.

He almost tells her that he can't raise the Nulls; almost tells her that he's afraid they're in the wind on this one and that every instinct he's got is screaming to just get out now. But something catches the words in his throat and holds them back. Duty probably; because he still wants to be a soldier, still wants to be capable and part of something bigger than himself. He still wants that more than he wants to just vanish into the unknown with Thena. He swallows.

"No, but what's the opportunity you're anticipating at this party?"

"Other than I need to go for my job, or cover or whatever? Well the entire upper leadership is going to be there, required merriment for the Mer-Son hundredth anniversary and all that. We can match every single name on the poobah roster to a face after this probably. And Livvet's coming too. You can do some up close observation of him, maybe he'll give himself away."

She's looking at him with such serene confidence that it hurts. She's certain that there's a plan, a path for this thing to end well and that he's thought of all of it. He can't let her know that he's feeling out of control. That he's not sure who to trust now that he can't even speak to the people nominally in charge of this thing. He's got to see it through to the end, not just for his sense of duty or self but because if they give up now Thena's going to see him as...As what? As less than she thought he was; foolish, naive?

Probably. He's only been alive for thirteen standard years, only been out of the cloning habs for two of those. Thena's twice his age at least but she doesn't seem to realize that. She's seen more than him, almost certainly knows more about humanity or sentients in general than him but she doesn't realize it. He's fronted the confident man-with-a-plan act to her too well.

"Yeah, fine. I'll go to your fancy dress party. Where do we rent out these clothes then?" He says, burying his doubts for another day.

She grins and kisses him. He tries not to feel like a fraud.


	8. Chapter 8

Final character addition, promise. There's no more threads to keep track of. And there's a bonus Null in this one.

Enjoy!

* * *

"And then I had to crouch out on the fire escape in my drawers for the better part of an hour until they fell back asleep. And let me tell you climbing down one of those quietly while clutching your clothes is not easy."

Madan's grinning like a pleased cat as he recounts his exciting tale of conquest from his evening off four days previously. The other two men at the sticky, pub table look rapt, or at least they're smiling. Gregor suspects Madan's lying about half of his encounter but he tries to look amused as well.

"Then as I'm pulling on my trousers I see this old woman from the building next door staring at me out her kitchen window."

There's another collective chuckle. Before Kai, draining his glass looks squarely at Madan and says, in a bitingly friendly voice.

"You are so full of bantha shit Mads."

Gregor stops, his glass halfway to his mouth and waits. Madan looks back at Kai just as squarely and responds:

"Missing your wild youth then?" The other man, whose name Gregor hasn't caught, laughs a little. The tension stretches for a moment, unexpected and sudden. Then Kai rolls his eyes.

"I stand by my statement and Maka and I are lovely, thank you for asking. I'm off for another, anyone else want? Gregor? Hennd?"

Gregor shakes his head, he's still got half a glass to finish. Hennd nods though and Kai vanishes toward the bar. Madan chuckles to himself and finishes his beer.

"I give it another month." He mutters.

Gregor almost wants to ask what he's talking about but he's reluctant to entangle himself too deeply in his coworkers' social lives. Instead of answering he shrugs. Madan smirks to himself and stretches.

"Since Kai's not going to help a brother out I'm off for a smoke."

He levers himself out of his chair and wanders away around the back of the building, leaving Gregor and the hapless seeming Hennd to sit awkwardly in silence. Not knowing how to break the ice Gregor just lets the silence stretch. His mind drifting as he idly scans the street and wonders when he can safely duck out of here and get back to monitoring Livvet.

This invitation from Madan was as unexpected as Crent's had been and Gregor had been ambiguous about accepting . There doesn't seem much point to pursuing leads down on the testing floor. He's quite certain that the leak is Livvet. He's even toyed with out and out quitting Testing and just spending his time monitoring the bugs set up in HQ. Thena'd convinced him that such an action might look suspicious, or at least very strange; there'd be questions asked for certain. She's right and he's been trying to keep to his cover as the unassuming new guy ever since. Unfortunately that means taking time to do a bare minimum of socializing just so it's not obvious that he's lost interest in the job.

At least this gathering is small, just the four of them seated at a table on the veranda, really the pavement, outside a bar in one of the shopping districts. It's actually been a rather pleasant evening of listening to Madan and Kai snipe at each other. He's still new to this civilian interaction and the each facet is novel.

The weather's been unseasonably warm and sunny for this late in the season and everyone seems in a good mood. The remaining leaves on trees and shrubs are turning astonishing colors and great drifts of the ones that have fallen line streets like florid dunes. The finer restaurants in the area are going all in on the old fashioned harvest theme and have started roasting things on wood fires. The air smells of smoke and a pleasant sort of decay all spiced by the sharp bite on the wind, even in the warmth of the past week; a reminder of the fast approaching cold season. It all combines to make everyone sort of mad in their desperation to enjoy the last days of comfortable weather.

So Gregor finds himself sitting out among the crowds trying not to drink too much, despite Madan and Kai's mild insistence that he 'enjoy' himself. He's been watching people come and go for the better part of two hours, first the people swirling in and out of the shops and now, as the sun rapidly sets, smaller knots or couples drifting into the restaurants and pubs. They're all so happy and carefree seeming. Even the ones who walk by arguing or pensively muttering into hand-coms are blissfully oblivious to their surroundings in a way that is totally foreign to him.

He, on the other hand, is circumspectly positioned, back to the half wall where the patio and the restaurant converge. He's got clear sight lines, five altogether, into the bar area and the street but with only two approaches possible to his own position. He's noted every person who's come into the bar, where they went, who they were with. He knows the number of people currently on the street, the makeup of their parties, which side streets they've turned down and generally how quickly he can get over the wall and shrubberies dividing this al fresco dining area from the street in case of emergency.

He has two hold-out blasters stashed, one in his boot one tucked along his lower back. There's a knife concealed in the sole of his other boot as well, and he's modified his belt to hide a reinforced, adamantine garrote wire should all else fail or if he needs silence.

He sleeps with a blaster in reach of the bed. It's not under the pillow, there's a risk he or Thena could bump it in the night, but it's still easily to hand. It makes him feel ever more alien. He's supposed to be suspicious of everyone, this is _shabla_ espionage after all, but he can't help but wonder if maybe he's too wary. Because he can't think of how he'd live if he wasn't on this mission; can't see himself strolling up and down streets in blind contentment.

"Where are you Gregor?" a voice asks from his left.

Madan's returned, smelling of burnt tabacc. Hennd'd left one minute and twelve seconds ago, probably discomforted by Gregor's ignoring him. Gregor saw him walk toward the restrooms.

"Where's Hennd?" Madan asks. Gregor decides it's best to continue to play distracted. He shrugs and shakes his head. Madan smirks.

"Something good out there?"He asks. Gregor realizes he's not just going to drop the subject of what's on his mind.

"No, just thinking." He punts, hoping it's enough. It isn't.

"What about?" Madan asks as he settles into the absent Hennd's seat beside him. Gregor sighs inwardly and thinks fast. He keeps to his tried and true policy of giving vaguely honest replies.

"About the difference between here and my last place."

Madan nods sagely. Gregor doesn't roll his eyes, barely. Madan takes a contemplative sip of his drink and leans back in his seat.

"You miss it much?"

"What?"

"Concordia, you miss it?"

"I...I feel out of place here."

A true and uninformative statement, good. Madan nods again.

"So do I sometimes..."

Madan starts to drone off onto a description of how the working man is getting shoved out of the life he earned these days, nothing's fair, too many free loaders. For the first second the rant takes Gregor by surprise. This sort of thing seems more like what the malingering Herrox would want to talk about. Madan's been all sarcasm and tall tales to now. But after a moment Gregor sees his thread. He wants more money and less work, thinks there's a magic cure for his ills in a new order, blames others for his lack of advancement rather than his own laziness. All dull and useless.

Gregor stops fully paying attention as he gets going. Something much, much more interesting has just wandered into the Correllian Restaurant across the street. Livvet, with a tall, red-head on his arm that Gregor knows from reviewing Mer-Son personnel files is not Mrs. Livvet.

They sit towards the back of the dining room and Gregor has to strain to see them through the interior gloom. His stomach is suddenly tight and his throat is dry. He slugs a large mouthful of beer and grunts in Madan's general direction pretending to agree with a point about the cowardice of elected officials.

It can't be that simple. This can't be the explanation. All of that work, the bugs the monitoring and the only thing the bastard is doing is having a bit on the side? He doesn't want to believe it but his treacherous brain reminds him that he hasn't heard from the Nulls in weeks. Maybe they know this mission is a dead-end. Maybe they're just leaving him here to keep him out of the way. Gregor raises his glass, feeling the scowl twisting his face and not caring if it seems appropriate to Mardan's ongoing monologue. The glass is, he's disappointed to notice, empty.

"Should have taken Kai up on that offer when he made it." Madan teases.

Gregor frowns.

"Sorry I didn't. I'll get my own." He snaps. Madan's face goes straight.

"No need, look, here's a waiter." He waves at the crowd and, sure enough, a Bim in a striped waistcoat appears at the table.

"'Nother round gentlemen?" He murmurs, grabbing their glasses before they can answer.

"Er..." Gregor mutters.

"House ale. On my tab, Madan, Auxal Madan." Madan says smoothly. The Bim shuffles deferentially then walks rapidly toward the bar.

"You alright Gregor?"Kai's suddenly back from a long sojourn elsewhere in the place and sits down across from him. Gregor realizes he's frowning.

"No. It's nothing." He mutters.

"Mads going on about politics again was he? Depressing stuff." Kai says.

"Not half as depressing as you."Retorts Madan. Kai rolls his eyes.

Gregor watches them morosely. The Bim returns with he and Madan's refreshed drinks. Gregor's grateful for the distraction. He takes a long pull on his glass, eyeing the Correllian Restaurant again. Livvet and his piece of strange are still inside. Probably feeding each other noodles or something equally revolting and soppy. He realizes Kai's talking to him.

"Sorry, what?"

Kai frowns. Madan chuckles.

"It's not completely bleak friend. Buck up." He says, slapping Gregor lightly on the shoulder.

There's nothing to say back so he waits for Kai to repeat himself or Madan to continue. Kai looks abashed for some reason. Madan glances at the other man.

"Next time." He murmurs. Gregor's not sure what he means by that. But Madan's talking again.

"Look if you're free at week's end come by the Raks. We'd love to have you."

"I don't know where that is."

"You know where the Royal Inn is?"

Gregor thinks for a moment.

"The diner off of Duchess?"

"That's the one. How about I tell Crent to meet you there? He lives close by and he can bring you around."

Gregor almost says yes. It's probably nothing useful, just more griping but it is interesting that Madan and Kai and Crent all seem to be involved. Then he remembers something.

"Can't this time. Sorry."

"Why not?"Asks Madan, sounding petulant. Kai smirks. Gregor wonders what their deal is.

"My gir-wife. She's working at the head office. There's some...thing, a party, she's got to go to at the end of this work week. I told her I'd go with her."

"Oh." Says Madan, dejected.

"That sounds..." says Kai, clearly at a loss. Gregor shrugs.

"I can't let her go on her own. Who knows what those money-types might do to her." He'd meant it as a joke but it takes a moment for Madan to laugh. Kai only smiles darkly and says:

"Too true."

This is all definitely odd but Gregor can't think about that now. Livvet is standing up way back in the Restaurant. He's helping the red-head up. Apparently this was a more of a drinks run than a dinner. They're leaving. It's stupid to follow them. They're probably off to a hotel or something sordid like that but he can't just give up on more than two week's work. There's more to Livvet than just a man having in an affair, Gregor knows it, deep in his bones.

"I'll come next time." He breaks in quickly, eyes still half on the activity across the street.

"You will?" Asks Madan, sounding very pleased. Kai pouts like a school girl whose been passed over by the star athlete.

"Yeah, er... Just let me know when at Testing okay? I've, er, got to head out. Promised the wife I'd pick up some...grass grain."

It's a completely ridiculous, stupid excuse but Madan and Kai are so distracted by whatever rivalry they're acting through that they just nod and mutter goodbyes. Gregor drops enough coins to cover his drinks and a tip on the table, trusting them to pick it up when the tab comes. Then he's out the door, pulling his grey canvas jacket tight over his shirt to better blend in to the deep blue shadows of the street.

* * *

He expects Livvet and his woman to take a car. But they leave the restaurant and walk, turning quickly onto a residential street that parallels the main shopping thoroughfare. Gregor follows them expertly; a six foot shadow that seems only a little more substantial than the ones around it. Livvet tries to take the red-head's hand. She steps away quickly, without looking at him, clearly trying to seem like she didn't notice his advance. Livvet sighs. Gregor catches the sound even five meters back concealed by an overgrown vine on and old house.

Livvet puts his hand firmly on the woman's elbow and tries to turn her away from the older buildings, toward the skyscraping glass towers visible to the left, still dusky pink with the last light of the setting sun. The woman shakes her head and pulls away. She turns and walks deeper into the old quarter. The Head of Mer-Son Research and Development follows her meekly down two more streets and into an old attached house that's been converted into apartments. They climb the stairs. A light turns on briefly on the third floor, then goes out.

Gregor leans against a wall across the street and down the block. He's can only see the flat if he cranes his neck and peers through the trees that line the street. It's too obvious a thing to do so he just stands, carefully in the deepest shadow of the wall, and watches the front door stubbornly.

The light on the glass facades of the buildings to the north fades from pink to violet to silvery grey and finally vanishes. Their internal lumos come on, fading the hard outlines of the framing until the windows seem to float in the night. A few speeders swish quietly past where he stands. He keeps well back. Their lights don't even lap his boots. The air grows colder.

His com buzzes once. It's Thena, the private signal they worked out. She's wondering where he is. He sends a message back, pressing buttons with his thumb, eyes still on the front door of the old house. It's only two, quick blips of sound; means wait. He'll explain when he gets back. She'll understand.

The sky's gone from a rich, ink blue to tattered black with a pinkish haze cast across it, a spectral reflection of the city's illumination. No speeders have passed by for more than an hour. Gregor keeps his hands deep in the pockets of his jacket; the collar turned up in an attempt to cover more of his skin for warmth. Gradually the lights in the surrounding houses start to go out. First the ones in the front of the buildings as the occupants head for beds or more private rooms in the rear then those too, one by one. The street's now lit only by the pools of light thrown by the old fashioned looking street lumos that cleverly flicker as though they're still powered by gaseous tibana.

It's very late. Gregor doesn't want to risk his position by checking the chrono on his com but he guesses it's almost thirteenth hour, mid-night here on Krivella. Wouldn't it be perfect if something were to happen now? A strange visitor arrive at Livvet's love nest, one of the lovers to leave; something. Anything. But there's nothing, just the cold, empty night. High above some of the stronger stars shine out from the sky that's now much blacker.

More time slips past. The night's gone still, so much so that the drone from the automated manufacturing plants more than ten kilometers away is clearly audible. Gregor's eyes are heavy, his feet ache with cold and he on the verge of admitting defeat. He's barely managing to fight off the tempting image of Thena curled warm in their bed waiting for him. But the bitter recalcitrance that made him follow Livvet and the woman in the first place stops him. Ten more minutes, he promises himself. If nothing happens by then I'll leave.

* * *

Three minutes pass and the front door opens. The red-head steps onto the street, buttoning the collar of her shirt, Livvet's shirt if Gregor isn't mistaken. His heart soars. There's a packet of flimsi in a brown folder tucked under her arm that she definitely didn't come in with. All thoughts of warm beds are vaporized by the adrenaline surging into Gregor's brain. He grins ferally. The red-head looks up and down the street. Gregor hold perfectly still, a shadow again. She doesn't see him and hurries down the steps, arms wrapped around herself, clearly chilled. Gregor follows.

She walks away from the house, heading west, out of the old quarter. She crosses the unofficial border into the newer parts of the city at Gehnnet Street; the main road now eerily silent, and continues. She never once looks behind her but walks fast, head down, shoulders tight against the cold. She's heading for the large park, the one that he passed over as a dead drop location because it was too full of people. It isn't full now. The red-head pauses at the entrance and looks around her again. Gregor's concealed just inside the park itself, having guessed her destination, cut down an alleyway, and climbed the high iron fence before she got here.

He lets her get several paces ahead of him again before he moves after her, keeping off the gravel paths. He has to hang further back from her now, there are fewer places to hide; long stretches of meadow and play areas that he'd be clearly visible crossing. Instead he uses the hush of the night to his advantage, following the soft crunch of her feet on the raked gravel. She's heading for the rear of the park where there's a sort of ornamental woodland and lake. It's the kind of spot young couples sneak off to in hopes of some privacy. Gregor follows her closer now, the trees concealing him easily.

There's a bench just off the path that the red-head is walking towards with a purpose. Gregor stops, three meters into the trees. The red-head bends down and tucks the papers under the bench. She does not look around her but straightens quickly, turns and goes back the way she's come. She's walking more slowly now, clearly trying to seem casual, normal, even though someone alone in a park in the middle of the night is hardly a normal occurrence. Gregor creeps after her long enough to assure himself that she's not going anywhere else tonight. When she re-crosses Gehnnet he turns back toward the park.

Her contact is going to have to come by before morning. There'll be early exercise enthusiast out as soon as it's a little light. He's tired but he can wait longer; the rest of the night if necessary. He can swing by the apartment for his clean uniform and some stims before his shift. He slips back into the trees, making sure he's got a good sightline on the bench and crouches against the thick trunk of one of them to wait.

There's no sound of the city here in the trees, the vegetation swallows it up. The wind rustles the last of the leaves high up in the branches. It'd be a soothing sound if Gregor weren't so keyed up. It's also colder here under the canopy, or maybe it's just damp. Even mostly bare of leaves the undergrowth holds onto moisture; the air growing misty as the dawn creeps closer. Still, Gregor waits, immobile but alert like the predator he was bred to be.

There's a soft sound drifting in from further into the little woodland, towards the lake. Someone's walking down the path. They're doing it carefully, trying to make as little noise as possible but Gregor hears them. The light's gone a slatey blue-grey that heralds dawn. Coupled with the patchy mist visibility is less than ideal. But Gregor sees the figure stealing down the path toward the bench easily. It's another female, human or near to it. She's tall, average build, brunette or black hair pulled into a long tail at the back of her head. It's the most distinctive thing he can make out about her. He her skin is dark, a little darker than his he thinks but he can only see a sliver of it between the high collar of her coat and her hair.

She crouches down and takes the folder from under the bench, eyes searching the mist for movement. Gregor resists the urge to spring out of the bushes and arrest her. Better to follow her back to destination, see what she's up to, get an inkling of her network if there is one. He waits. The woman turns and walks out of the woods toward the main gate. Gregor lets her get almost lost in the mist before standing. His joints are stiff with cold and damp but he ignores the ache and stalks his quarry.

She leaves the park by the same gate the red-head had entered. He sticks as close behind her as he dares. She reaches Gehnnet street and turns the opposite direction as her contact. North, away from the old quarter and toward the larger shopping district, the one locals frequent to buy everyday goods and groceries.

It's opening up time for many of those shops, time for deliveries and preparations in anticipation of early shoppers. There are a number of people on the streets here, all going about their jobs with a single minded intensity; making it easier to get closer to the woman.

He still can't make out details other than the hair. Her back is to him and she's moving fast. It's slightly challenging to keep up, he keeps having to dodge trolleys laden with bread dough or produce. People stand in the street and haggle over deliveries without a thought as to what or who needs to get by them. But he's a professional, he can't be shaken of that easily.

Suddenly the woman trips; right in front of a Gan pushing an overloaded cart of meat and fish. The Gan sees the woman go down in front of him, screeches and stops short. A man pushing a rack of coats collides with him, sending several of the fish flying. Immediately a fight breaks out, the noise and confusion increasing rapidly with the shouts of other shop keepers and delivery people inconvenienced by the traffic jam. The woman is being helped to a stoop by a young man. She leans heavily on him, rubbing at her knee and pulls out her com. Within a minute Gregor hears sirens as the medical services emerge from a nearby dispatching station.

He fades into the crowd, pausing to snap a pict of the woman with his com unit. There's no way he can hang around long enough for this to clear up. He'll have to check the database of Kirvella registered residents after his shift and be content with that. As he jogs the three miles or so back to the apartment he wonders if the woman knew he was tailing her; wonders if she tripped on purpose. If so he's dealing with someone much cleverer than Livvet or his mistress. The thought gives him a frisson of excitement; finally, a challenge.

* * *

By the time he gets back to the building the cool of the night is gone. Between the overflow of adrenaline and the exercise he's sweating freely. Mrs. Lenko is out on her patio smoking when he runs up. She arches an eyebrow at him.

"I'll be polite and not ask." She answers tartly. Gregor blinks at her and then realizes what she's implying. He feels his face go even hotter.

"It's not that."

Mrs. Lenko nods dubiously.

"Just remind her not to throw anything that will damage my walls please." She adds as he heads for the stairs.

The sweat under his arms and down his spine increases disproportionally as he climbs the two flights of stairs to his place. Thena won't be angry. She knows why he was out. Mrs. Lenko's just being crotchety. He works hard to convince himself of those facts as he slots the key card into the lock.

The place is quiet. Nothing's broken, the dishes are all washed and laid out next to the sink to dry. He pulls off his boots and jacket before skulking down the hall. The bedroom door is closed. He wipes his sweaty palms on his pants before pressing the release. It slides back to reveal the room in its usual state of half disarray. Thena's clothes hang haphazardly on any level surface while his are in knife-straight order in the open wardrobe. He can make out a shape under the covers on the side of the bed nearest the door, the side he usually sleeps on. She's hanging onto a pillow as well, his pillow. He grins. Mrs. Lenko is a cheery old pessimist it seems. Still, he resists the urge to climb into bed for the hour or so left before he has to get up. He wants to get this report done while the information's fresh. He slips into the office.

He leaves the door open as he punches the codes into the secure fixed com unit.

"Three-Nine. Null Grey. Null Grey respond."

He waits a minute, counting the seconds. No response comes back.

"Three-Nine. Null Black. Null Black respond."

"Three-Nine this is Null Blue responding."

"Null Blue?"

"N-7, shiny."

"Confirm. Do you have a secure visual link Blue?"

"Suspicious. Good boy. Secure link live in two minutes."

"Gregor?"

He turns. Thena's standing in the door way, hair a mess, rubbing her eyes.

"Hey _Ten'ika_. I was working."

She nods and saunters towards him. She's wearing a singlet, almost transparent with age, and panties. He nervously checks the visual link. They've still got a minute and a half so he doesn't say anything.

"You'd better have been." She grouses as she gets close enough to lean in for a kiss. He guesses that means she's not actually angry.

"Mrs. Lenko said you were going to chuck things at me."

"Yeah. I might have had to tell her a story about how angry I am with your drinking when she came sniffing around. Nosy mynock."

"She's not so bad."

"Not to you."

He rubs the exposed skin just above the ridge of her pelvic bone absently, thinking.

"_Ten'ika_?"

"Hmm?" She's leaning sleepily into him.

"I tailed Livvet last night."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah. He's seeing some red-headed woman on the side, tall, er...curvy. Do you know her?"

"That's all I have to go on?"

He shrugs and nods

"No then."

"Okay. How about her?"

He pulls up the pict of the dark haired woman who picked up the information from the drop. Thena squints at it.

"She looks kind of familiar but I can't tell. You want me to check company records?"

"Can you?"

"Sure."

The fixed com beeps once as it starts transmitting.

"Three-Nine, this is Null Blue. Secure visual established. Well hello there."

Gregor's head snaps around to see a Null, one he's unfamiliar with but definitely a Null ARC, on the vid screen. He's leering playfully at Thena.

"I appreciate your hospitality _ner vod._ That's a nice thing to see first thing in the morning."

Gregor feels a growl deep in his chest. Thena stands up straight, brushes her hair off her face and sets a hand on her cocked hip.

"Which one are you? Wait, never mind. I don't care." She snaps.

Mereel chuckles.

"Jaing said you were feisty. I see why you keep her around Gregor."

"Thena Kuora is an asset to this mission." Gregor grinds out between clenched teeth.

"I'll say."

"_Kriff _off." Thena snaps. Then she looks at Gregor. "I assume you two have useful things to discuss. And take a shower before you go in today. You stink."

Gregor winces at her tone but doesn't say anything. It's not the time, especially in front of Mereel.

"Hey don't be mad." The Null cracks as she leaves. "Or at least don't be mad at me. I smell fresh as a daisy, promise."

Thena makes a decisively obscene gesture over her shoulder and slides the door shut behind her.

"Very nice." Mereel purrs, all exaggerated lechery.

"_Kriff_ off, like the lady said." Snaps Gregor. Mereel grins for a few seconds more before schooling his features into something slightly more serious.

"Yeah, the lady also said you had useful intel. So spit it out. I haven't got all morning to laze about."

Gregor bites back his own desire to snap at Mereel. Taking a deep breath he outlines the events of the night before. Mereel nods as he finishes.

"Confirmation. Good. Follow up. Find out who those women are and if the Head's knowingly involved."

Mereel reaches forward, about to sign off. Gregor can't hold back anymore.

"Where's Prudii? I've been out of contact for two weeks."

Mereel pauses, eyeing him; unreadable.

"Prudii's busy. So's Jaing. I was on the coms, I got your message. You have a problem dealing with me?"

"No but-"

"_Vod'ika_ there's a war on if you hadn't noticed. You deal with whichever of us is around. Got it?"

"Got it."

"Good. Now get back to work. And give that girl a pinch for me."

Gregor surges out of the chair with a snarl as though he could actually reach through the screen for the other clone. But the connection's broken before he's even on his feet. His anger pulses behind his eyes; the beginning of a headache. He's not sure what's pissing him off more, the way Mereel acted about Thena or the flippant brush off of the lack of contact. He's too tired to sort it all out. He can hear Thena slamming cupboards in the kitchen and hopes she doesn't accidentally break the caf brewer. He digs a stim sharp out of a pouch next to the monitor and jabs his thigh. He's got to be careful not to get too reliant on the drugs to keep him going but today is going to be rough anyway. He'll deal with the inevitable crash tonight. One thing at a time, he reasons as he stumbles toward the shower, one thing at a time.


	9. Chapter 9

Here's a bit of a break in the action for the promised party (because what's a spy caper without someone in evening wear right?)

Enjoy!

* * *

Gregor peers at the small screen of the pad for the third time in ten minutes. He's usually better about finding his way around, even in unfamiliar territory. Scratch that, he's usually flawless at finding his way around because he's already mapped out everything he needs to know ahead of time. But today he's been lax on the prep.

It's because he's been busy hunting though personnel records and resident registrations for the past couple of days. And Thena's been busy with the final preparations for whatever this shindig is. He hadn't realized how much he's come to rely on her to help set his routine until she hasn't been coming home until late at night. He'll just keep working without her; come home, walk into the office, forget to eat, forget to change clothes and time will get away from him. It's not a series of excuses, it isn't. It's reasons he tells the disgusted voice in his head that can't believe he's gone and gotten lost.

He can't help but be distracted though, nothing's making sense. The red-head was fairly easily found. She used to be Livvet's assistant. It was enough of a cliché that even Gregor caught it and had to groan inwardly. Thena's response had been a cocked eyebrow and a question.

"Are you sure someone who's this stupid is capable of stealing industrial secrets and not getting caught?"

Truthfully he wasn't. Livvet had clearly gotten his high position with R&D based on something other than brains. He plainly doesn't give a hang about security, Gregor's hacked his net accounts easily over the past few days. It was probably an easy enough feat for the woman to pull schematics or other necessary documents off of Livvet's pad. Gregor was more than willing to bet that he took all sorts of useful things home with him and had minimal security on his devices. How a careless fool like that ended up the Head of R&D for a place like Mer-Son was beyond him. The man must have the greatest connections in the galaxy.

If Livvet was an idiot and the red-head was an obvious honey trap, the dark haired woman was clearly some kind of pro. She was a complete ghost, no residency record, no employer files, nothing. Thena still thought she looked familiar and had begun to comb through the older, flimsi stored records at HQ when she had time but she hadn't gotten far in two days. Then there was the question of Livvet's calls to the private apartment in the same building. Was it just a way to get in contact with the red-head? If so why had they gone to the house in the old quarter two nights ago? Was the dark haired woman using it? The records for the residences were proving significantly harder to crack than those of Mer-Son. It was suspicious and driving him slightly crazy.

Gregor notes that the clump of tree's he's passing looks familiar, stops and swears. They are familiar; he's passed them before. He's going to circles looking for this _shabla_ speeder rental place that Thena's got a discount for thanks to Arricnak. She's given him directions but they make no sense to him and seem to relate to a set of streets possibly in a totally different city. Why the hell she couldn't pick up the speeder...He quashes the thought. She couldn't pick up the speeder because she's taking care of getting them clothing for the evening. She gave him a choice of jobs last night and he picked this one because he knows his own strengths and selecting formal wear is not on that list. They need to rent a speeder because the buses don't run to the swanky casino this thing is being held in. Also arriving to an event like this by public transportation, were that even a possibility, is totally beyond the pale apparently.

That doesn't mean he has to be happy about it right now. He glares at the pad, looks up, sees nothing relating to the directions as printed and finally gives up. He turns and stalks into a caf shop. The girl behind the counter looks up at him with a vapid grin.

"Hello-what-can-I-get-you-today?"

"Er, Gannex Rentals?" He asks. She blinks vaguely and he wonders for a second if she's really some kind of cyborg. Then her eyes focus.

"Oh, it's two doors down, across the street. Lot's in the back."

"Oh. Thanks miss."

"No problem. People ask all the time. Have-a-nice-day." And then she's back to smiling blankly into the middle distance. Gregor backs out of the shop feeling like a moron. When he steps into the lobby of the shop two doors down he feels even worse. The lot's clearly visibly through the large plate-plaz window. He should have seen it. Then and there Gregor swears off stims, it's just caf for him from now on. His edge is slipping and that is a bad, bad thing.

"Can I help you son?" Asks a tall Rodian with a nice beer-gut.

"I'm picking up a speeder. Reserved under Tahy?" The Rodian pecks at the keys of his processor.

"Oh, yes. Right here. Could you sign please?"

More flimsi forms appear. Gregor scrawls something that doesn't look like his name. The Rodian produces a portable pad.

"And this one too please." Gregor looks at him, puzzled.

"We need the flimsi for Kirvellan taxes. The government requires hard copies of everything. New policy as of last year."

Gregor scribbles on the pad.

"That seems kind of odd." He comments. It's probably not important but he is curious about all the non-digitized records.

"Sure is. Mer-Son's idea I think. They own everything and make the policy. Apparently they wanted to revert to the flimsi."

"I suppose." Gregor says.

"I'll tell you it makes working with some of the non-humans difficult. They don't really write do they, or have much ability to hold a pen? Not to mention a lot of them still remember the old style flimsi tests from elsewhere."

"I'm sorry?"

"Oh, never mind. I'm rambling. Your car's in the third aisle. D'you want me to have it brought around."

"Please."

"Just one moment."

The Rodian buzzes up a droid and then vanishes into the back room. Gregor waits, considering what he's said. He's not good with Galactic History in general. He learns what he needs to know and doesn't worry about the gaps. But having Thena around has made him much more interested in human vs. non-human politics. He makes a mental note to ask her about 'flimsi tests' when he gets the chance.

The droid drops the speeder straight down in front of the shop with mechanical precision, as to be expected. Gregor stuffs his hands in his pockets and walks out, trying not to look shocked at the luxury of the vehicle. No wonder Thena needed the discount to rent from here. The place he's been using maybe has _pictures_ of speeders like this one, on calendars, with scantily clad females draped over them.

The door glides open with a well-engineered purr at the push of a button. The seats are real, honest to Force, Bantha hide in a buttery tan shade that's actually mouthwatering. He slides it into gear and almost purrs himself at the smooth power of the prime engine under this thing. He grins as he pulls into traffic and cruises home. There's a back seat that looks like it could comfortably fit about five people. Thena is going to flip out over this thing when he brings it home. The night is looking up.

* * *

He beats Thena back to the apartment and claims the first shower. It seems ominous to him that it's taking her so long to secure two sets of clothing. He even coms her to check up before bathing. Her response is a cryptic 'these things take time.' He rolls his eyes, drops the com on the sink and steps into the shower, tempted to take more than five minutes out of spite; leaving Thena with less than fifteen minutes of hot water. He doesn't do it, because she's already nervous about tonight and he doesn't want to explain to the party patrons that his fresh stab wound was mostly justified.

He hears the entrance door slide open just as he's finishing trimming his beard. He hastily runs the water in the sink to wash the errant hair out and goes to see what kind of clothes take seven hours to acquire. Thena is carefully draping two long, opaque plaz bags over the back of the sofa. He walks up behind her, wrapping an arm around her waist and kissing the back of her neck.

"Did you see the speeder we got?"

"Alphos 6Z7, new last year, full dual drive model. Electrum coil power feed with carbolite insulation, minimal loss of energy to heat in the transfer."

"I love it when you talk about engines." He whispers against the little hump of bone right where her spine joins her shoulders. She snorts.

"Even if you only understand half of it." He chuckles and licks at her slightly sweaty skin.

"I have my talents, you have yours."

She shivers but steps away from him. He stops the disappointed sound in his throat.

"Well I hope tying a tie is among those because we are running late." She grouses, marching toward the fresher.

"Late? It's not for three hours."

"Some of us can't just run our hands through our hair and look perfect and sexy." She growls. He grins at the compliment, even if it is a little backhanded.

"Don't worry about me _Ten'ika_ I had to wear a mess uniform a couple of times. This'll be easy."

"I hope so." He hears her mutter as she triggers the fresher door.

* * *

The suit she's picked out is nice, a deep blue that's almost black with a crisp white shirt and black tie that cinches up just below his chin. Even taking extra time to polish his boots to a mirror shine, he's refused to get a set of the slick soled dress shoes, he's dressed and ready in less than thirty minutes. He kills another half hour double checking all of his small, easily concealed weapons. He smiles to himself as he tucks a ridiculously shiny little blaster into his boot. Jaing refers to it as the 'go to worship' gun. Whether because it's so fancy or it packs a fatally nasty wallop he never clarified.

Thena's not even out of the fresher by then, though he can't hear the shower running anymore. He sits and waits, leafing through a dossier of the probable attendees that he and Thena had assembled. It's dull and his nerves about the coming evening start to resurface; all those rich powerful people who'll see his face and maybe remember it once this is over and he's back in armor. Do rich industrialists know how to contract revenge killings? Probably, or they have staff that does. He frowns sternly and refuses to think more about that possibility. He considers watching something on the holonet. There's probably a bollo-ball game on but he can't be bothered.

Thena finally emerges carefully made up with her hair curled and tease up into a dark swirl of waves that stop just below her chin. He stares, not wanting to touch and muss her up. She's wearing almost nothing, just a sheer, lacy undergarment across her hips that's so brief it might as well not be there. She's got on long stockings that cling to the tops of her thighs as if by magic and that's it. She smiles at him in that nervous way he hasn't seen since Abafar. Then she snatches up the second bag and is gone into the bedroom before he can speak.

Surprisingly she he puts the dress on in less time than it took him to remember the trick of his tie. It's breathtaking, white and filmy like it's been spun from layers and layers of morning fog; shimmery and long with very appropriate sleeves that billow out a little around her arms before coming down to tight silver cuffs over her wrists. The neck is low, showing a modest swell of her flesh, but not risqué. She looks younger somehow; distressingly innocent even with her tousled hair and carefully painted eyes.

"What?" She asks, alarm clear in her eyes. "Why are you frowning at me? Is it wrong? Too much cleavage? Not enough?"

"No, no you have exactly the right amount of...cleavage it's just...you look so..."

"So what? Gregor come on, I can't do this if you start acting weird."

"I don't know. Wait. I have an idea."

He dashes past her to the bedroom. Whatever perfume she's wearing, flowers and wood and the smoky, sweet smell that's just her naturally, follows him. He digs through her piles of blouses until he finds what he wants. As he turns to leave something on her side of the bed catches his eye. He grabs that too and hurries back. She's standing exactly where she was before looking beautiful and too perfect for a genetically engineered freak like him. He folds the blue-green scarf over itself three times until it's a little less than his hand span across, then leans down and wraps it around her waist like a sash, knotting it and tucking the ends in securely. He leans back to look at it. She does the same, bending her head down and forward. He finds himself looking more at the soft part of her hair than her dress and can't help but kiss it.

"Blech!" He sputters. She straightens, laughing.

"Sorry Gregor, hair lacquer."

"I should have guessed." He mumbles, wishing for a sip of water to wash the chemical sting from his mouth.

"It's not your fault. I'm enchanting." She coos, rubbing the sash gently. "Neat trick by the way."

"Yeah, mess uniforms come with sashes, well the officers' ones do. It's harder to learn than the tie."

"Oh." She says softly. Her black eyes are very warm. So is the air around them all of a sudden. He swallows hard, twice before clearing his throat.

"One more thing."

He drops to his knees in front of her, reaching first for the item from next to the bed and then under the cloudy layers of her skirt. He takes longer than is strictly necessary; enjoying the thin, smooth stockings over the long, thick muscles of her legs. He hikes the skirt up to her hips, higher than necessary again but she doesn't seem to mind. He grins up at her as he straps the black-bladed knife just above the lacy top of her left stocking. She smiles back.

"For old time's sake." He says, a little breathlessly. She smells warm and inviting, the flower scent smoothed out with the tang of her skin.

"Expecting trouble?" She asks. He's gratified to note she sounds almost out of breath.

"Always." He answers and kisses her mons, just above the top of her slit, taking a moment to enjoy the give of her flesh and the way the hair holds her smell as well as her happy gasp. He pulls back, dropping the material and smoothing it down before he goes too far. Standing he grins down at her and offers his elbow in his very best impression of a fancy gentleman from old vids.

"Shall we?" He asks in his plumiest accent.

She smirks, sketches a curtsy and loops her arm through his.

* * *

The Rechmet Casino is stunning; dizzy with refracted lights from crystal fixtures, polished stone floors in every color imaginable and dozens of Kirvella's great and good in finery of even more elaborate hues. It's also hot, even with the rows of doors to the Casino's grounds standing open to let in the night air. And this was only the beginning. The Century Celebration is to go on for months, culminating in a massive party on the anniversary of Mer-Son's founding in early spring. That party, so Thena tells him, is to be at least ten times the size of this one. The very idea of having to be trapped in a huge, overheated room with even twice this many people has Gregor fervently vowing that this mission is wrapped up before spring.

A band plays in the far corner of the vast ballroom; ten musicians, two Bims a Rodian and seven Bothans. One of the Twi'lek waiters drifts by him with a plate of finger foods impaled on little sticks. Gregor waves him down and grabs a handful, ignoring the smirk he gets. There's no actual dinner at this interminable thing, just trays of jawa sized foodstuffs and bubbly alcohol. He's awkward, unable to dance or converse easily with the glittering hordes. But then they don't seem terribly inclined to talk to him already. They probably look at him as an interloper, a bizarre artifact of the people who made them their money.

Gregor sneers at himself as he gulps down the last meat wrapped, cheese stuff fruit things. He's starting to sound like Herrox. There's nothing like being treated like mud on the shoe of the powerful to fan class hatred apparently. Truthfully, he's bored and thinks this might have been a waste of time.

Livvet's in attendance of course but accompanied by the tight skinned, bleached haired Mrs. Livvet. They've hardly spoken to each other all night but they stay close together, smiling automatically whenever someone comes up to them. It's all perfectly choreographed and unlikely to yield anything useful.

He wishes Thena would come back so they can concoct a plan to leave. But she's being treated to all of the attention he's not getting. Arricnak snatched her immediately and has been introducing her to his old friends. Thena, for her part is being charming or at least everyone she's spoken with seems charmed by her. She being constantly dragged out onto the cleared dance floor by one vice president of this or department head of that. Gregor doesn't mind, they're all old enough to be her grandfather. He's free to observe the comings and goings of the party. But since nothing of interest has happened yet he's been watching Thena for the past twenty minutes as she attempts a sort of hoping dance with the head of marketing that was probably in vogue a decade before she was born. She looks lovely; a study in contrast, pale dress and shadowy hair with one streak of color around her waist grounding her, his streak of color.

"Hello. I don't believe we've met." Says a soft, feminine voice from behind him.

Gregor starts, a bit embarrassed that he's been snuck up on so easily and turns. For a moment he almost panics, almost goes full commando in his fine suit. It's the woman from the park, the dark haired one he tailed.

"Er, no. Um, I'm...Gregor." She smiles charmingly, her teeth very white against her smooth, dark skin. He regrets giving her even that much information.

"What are you doing here, if you don't mind my asking?"

"I'm sorry?" She laughs, her voice high pitched and girlish.

"No, no I didn't mean it like that. You just don't seem...old enough to be on your own here." His brain runs through a calisthenic work out of possible meanings, is she referring to his clone age, is this just innocent flirting, does she know? He finally manages.

"I came as a...plus one."

She raises a pretty eyebrow and pointedly scans some of the matrons lurching across the dance floor. Gregor feels himself flush at the implication.

"I...you didn't tell me your name." He sputters just as the music stops. 'Name' comes out very loudly in the silence. The woman smiles.

"Parmenna Luushot." She extends a well-manicured hand. Gregor looks at it for a moment before shaking it.

"Good Evening Miss." Comes Thena's annoyed voice from his right. She's clearly escaped the dance floor and is striding over, looking angry. Parmenna smiles again.

"Your host?" She asks playfully. Gregor drops her hand.

"Yes. My wife."

Thena cruises to a stop next to him and he takes a moment to slip and arm around her waist. Parmenna's smile is fixed.

"I was just chatting with you husband, he seems to be about the only man under sixty here. I was curious about the novelty."

"Indeed." Says Thena, all chilly good manners. Parmenna furls her brow.

"Please don't think I'm being rude but have we met?" She asks Thena.

"I was wondering myself."

"Ah, Parmenna, you've come. So glad." Arricnak arrives from the same direction as Thena, flushed from either drink or exertion.

"Thena my dear, have you met Ms. Luushot? She's with BlasTech I'm afraid but we're trying to bring her over to our side."

"Oh, yes. You've come by the office." Thena says slowly, remembering. Parmenna smiles her pretty smile again and laughs like a bell.

"I shamelessly use Petrus as a way to get a fine lunch. I'll admit."

Behind them the band picks up a new tune, a little slower. Gregor takes Thena's elbow.

"I think I'd like a dance myself." He murmurs, hoping the smile he's plastered on his face doesn't look as false as it feels. Thena follows him back onto the floor with uncharacteristic meekness. He catches a glimpse of Arricnak bowing to Parmenna. Her accepting his hand and slinking onto the floor with him.

"That's her." He whispers as they start to sway. "The woman I followed from the drop."

"I know. BlasTech, I knew she looked familiar. She's been in to see Arricnak about five times."

"Is he really trying to recruit her?"

"I think so. I mean I can't imagine why else she'd come up."

"Does she talk to Livvet?"

"Not that I remember. I don't even think he's been in the office when she comes by."

"Wait." He murmurs and almost stops moving.

Thena drags him into a slow, bobbing circle that lets him keep watching the sudden development with Livvet and his wife. They're clearly arguing and just as clearly trying to hide it. They stand by the wall farthest from the doors, heads bent close. Mrs. Livvet is motioning furtively and frowning. It pulls all of her meticulous facial work into disarray. Livvet himself is ramrod straight and glaring at his shoes. Suddenly he walks away from his wife, leaving her standing alone, face contorted in rage.

"What?" Thena hisses.

"Livvet's on the move." He whispers back.

"But the BlasTech woman's still here."

"What? _Kriff._"

He's at a loss as he watches Livvet start to make his way through the crowd toward the door. Smiling and shaking hands. But Thena's right; Parmenna is still on the dance floor with Arricnak.

"Have you got any ideas? Do we split up or something?" Thena murmurs.

"No, _shab_, I'm and idiot. It might work but usually…Ow."

She's pinched his ribs.

"What might work? Use full sentences please."

"Oh, I've got these slugs with, some kind of nano dust that can be used to track people temporarily. Sitcks to skin and hair, best if it's inhaled. It's a bunch of tiny droids that transmit a target's location back to, well us in this case."

"So why don't we use it?"

"Generally it has to be fired out of a slug launcher, thus the, er, slugs."

"What if it came out of the slugs? Would it still work if it were just, say, sprinkled on someone? I mean maybe not the 'in their lungs' part but the rest."

"It might not be as accurate..."

"Give me one."

"One what?"

"Slug. I have an idea."

"Thena I've only got three."

"Well I only need one. Hand it over."

The music's winding down. There's very little time, Livvet's less than ten meters from the exit. He sighs and fumbles under his jacket. The slug thrower is awkward at this angle and he hopes he doesn't accidentally discharge it. Finally he gets the chamber open and palms a bullet to Thena. The music ends. Everyone begins to clap. Livvet's eight meters from the exit. Thena isn't clapping but carefully separating the casing from the firing base.

"You follow Livvet. He's got to get the valet to pull his car around. Make sure you're next in line behind him." She says out of the side of her mouth.

"And where will you be?"

"Saying our goodbyes." She tells him with a grin. "Now move soldier."

* * *

He watches her walk resolutely toward Arricnak and shakes his head, turning to follow the fast retreating Livvet.

It's probably not going to work. It's a ridiculous idea but she's got to try or this whole evening is potentially wasted. She walks up to Arricnak.

"Petrus. I'm so sorry but Gregor and I have to head home. He's got a call to make…to his father. Once a week, it's very important to him."

"Oh, I'm sorry my dear. Are you sure you couldn't stay?"

"No, I'm sorry but he really doesn't miss it."

"Well just one moment. Darling!"

He waves Mrs. Arricnak over and explains the situation. She goes through the same song and dance and Thena's starting to feel just a little bit guilty about her lie. Luckily Parmenna is standing right there and is making sympathetic faces and showing no signs of leaving. At last Mrs. Arricnak steps forward to hung Thena and give her the traditional Kirvellan kiss on each cheek. Thena would usually be uncomfortable but fakes her way through. Before Parmenna can step away Thena turns and steps forward to embrace her. As she kisses her cheeks she offers a silent prayer to the Universe that this works and carefully upends the casing behind Parmenna's back.

The nanodoirds, thank the Force are transparent so no pale streaks mar the black and white striped lace of the woman's dress. She doesn't seem to notice them trickling down her back either. Smiling now, Thena steps back and even lets Arricnak go through the traditional Kirvellan male good-bye of kissing her hand. She promises to stay longer next time and all but runs out the doors to the valet area.

Livvet is still waiting for his car, hoping uncomfortably from foot to foot, whether from cold or impatience it's impossible to say. She glides up to Gregor and grabs his elbow.

"All done."

"What'd you do?"

"I'll tell you in the speeder. Have you gotten Livvet?"

"No, too windy. We're going to have to tail him the old fashioned way. In the speeder."

The valet pulls up with Livvet's ostentatious yellow sport speeder. Fortunately a second valet pulls their rental up moments later. Gregor tosses him what is probably a too generous tip judging by the kid's grin but there's no time to say anything. He bundles her into the passenger side and has the engine started before she's fully into her safety restraint. They pull into the light night time traffic two vehicles behind Livvet.

Gregor's intensely focused, so she doesn't tell him about her cunning with Parmenna and the nanodust, though she can't help smiling to herself. They weave in and out of traffic changing the number of cars between them and Livvet seemingly at random; sometimes they're right behind him, sometimes she can only just make out the speeder. It doesn't take long for Thena to realize where he's going.

"He's going back to the office?"

Gregor grins.

"No. I think we're about to find out a little more about the mysterious flat on the ninetieth floor."

"Oh," she'd forgotten about that.

Gregor pulls around Livvet as he signals his turn into the private garage next to the building.

"Thena is there a private entrance in there?"

"I don't think so."

"You sure?"

She bites her lip.

"Yes, I'm sure."

"Okay." He pulls the car around the edge of the plaza and parks it in a deep shadow.

"You get over here and keep the engine running. I'm going to set up a shot with this," he holds up the slug thrower for emphasis, "in the plaza, the buildings should block the wind. Once I've done it though it's smart for us to be out of here sharpish. Can you do that?"

"Of course."

He smiles at her now and leans over to kiss her hard on the mouth.

"See you in five."

She loses sight of the dark blue suit almost immediately and lets herself be impressed, as though her choice of the color had been intentional. The speeder's a trip and a half, purrs like a kitten and runs like a kybuck. Atmosphere limited vehicles aren't usually her thing but this machine is a beauty. Thena lets herself admire the interior and the specs of the engine in her memory a few moments longer, trying to distract herself from worrying about Gregor out there in the dark. She checks the clock. Gregor's been gone two minutes and she's already feeling antsy. She stares at digits shifting for the next two, though it seems to take an hour. Suddenly the passenger door pops open. She screams a little. Gregor gives her a concerned frown.

"Sorry," she mutters, "I was uh…let's go."

She turns back toward their apartment and drives a little faster than is probably wise. She's still nervous. Gregor's still grinning.

"You get him?" She asks.

"I surely did_ Ten'ika_. You get Parmenna?"

Yeah." She tells him what she'd done. He throws his head back as she finishes and laughs. It's a deep, warm sound that she's hardly ever heard from him.

"_Mirdala Ten'ika_, very clever."

"I probably got some on Arricnak too."

"No problem. We'll figure it out."

She almost regrets having to pull into the little alcove in front of their building. She turns off the engine and looks at him.

"Well, that was quite the night hmm?"

"It was."

"So, you got any…plans then soldier?" His smile gets hot.

"Maybe. Have you seen the back seat of this thing?"

She smirks.

"I might have."

"It's bigger than the couch."

"This dress is a rental. I don't want to mess it up."

"You know this model has new semi-opaque privacy screening available?" He says, primly.

"Semi-opaque?"

"It's pretty cool out. I don't think anyone'll be in the street…"

"Mrs. Lenko probably noticed us pulling up. Maybe she'll wonder why we haven't gone inside."

His eyes are practically glowing, his skin flushed. She can see his chest rising and falling quicker. This is interesting. Clone commando Gregor has him an exhibitionist streak. She really probably shouldn't encourage this kind of risk taking behavior.

"She was so concerned about our relationship three days ago. It'll be reassuring to her if we fuck in the speeder." He murmurs, voice ragged.

"Well," Thena says, reaching for the side fastenings on her dress. "I guess I'm out of excuses."

* * *

And there's a smutty scene over on my AO3 account if you'd like to continue this one.


	10. Chapter 10

From here on out it's new material. I don't believe this chapter ever made it up onto the original post. Also going forward I need to warn you that the violence ramps up. Not so much in this chapter but for the rest I'm going to earn the M rating. Please consider yourselves warned.

* * *

A week after the party Gregor almost makes a mistake in the second round of testing for a new silencer. He catches himself at the last minute and corrects the calibration before he blows the barrel of the test rifle. He can't find it in himself to be embarrassed though. He's distracted, it's true; careless about the task at hand for probably the first time in his life. But there just seems not to be a point anymore. He has his quarry and most of the answers he needs. This aspect of the job just seems superfluous.

Several sleepless nights for he and Thena as well as a bevy of monitoring technology have helped to fill in the vast majority of the gaps in the story. Livvet's living on the ninetieth floor of the office tower in a sort of mid-life bachelor flat. The former secretary is in the old quarter, frequently visited by Parmenna, but never when Livvet is around. There actually seems to be not contact between Livvet and Parmenna at all. She hasn't been to Thena's office to speak with Arricnak since the party but is spending her time instead wandering between a non-descript flat in the North of the city and the old quarter. She occasionally goes to a place directly east of Testing. She's gone twice in the past week. Always at night and for a few hours only, leaving before thirteenth hour and returning north, though she tends to drive out of sensor range and then turn up the next morning in the flat.

He hasn't been able to work out what's going on there and it's driving him to distraction. He's almost certain she's heading into the far northern suburbs to make a final contact with her handlers. She can't just wave the information off to them, the Republic monitors frequencies and he's got a ghost network under that the Nulls set up. There's been no unauthorized signals so the intel isn't leaving Kirvella is that way. The hand off can only be face to face with the flimsi transported directly by vessel afterward. He's got to follow her out there and tie everything up. Then he can get the _shab _off this planet.

Even as he's looking forward to getting more straightforward missions there's a pang as he thinks about Thena. Would she come along, could she? Certainly if he was operating alone having a second pilot, and one who's markedly more skilled than himself to boot, wouldn't be bad. But what about Mi? And what about the people Mi and Thena had crossed out there in the Outer Rim? There are no answers forthcoming and Gregor's a forthright man. The best course of action that he can see is to force the issue by wrapping up this job and moving on to the next.

Suddenly there's an awful, squealing hiss. Gregor jumps, sees the test meter in front of him starting to smoke and rips the leads out of the power cell he'd attached them to. The cell sputters and sparks ominously as the meter continues to wail. Gregor feels his ears go hot and the eyes of every person on the Testing floor turning in his direction. Second mistake in two days and this one he got caught making. Hui comes running from his office.

"What happened?"

"Er, I didn't recalibrate the meter properly before changing test cells."

And he should have, he can do this in his sleep. He's tested cells with just this type of meter when he's doing maintenance on his deece. It's a stupid, ridiculous mistake that he should never have made, would never have made if he'd been properly focused. Now he's gone and drawn attention to himself; stupid.

Hui is shaking his head.

"Are you feeling well Tahy?"

Clearly he thinks Gregor shouldn't have ever screwed up such a simple task as well.

"I'm fine." Gregor snaps.

Hui raises an eyebrow.

"Look, Gregor. How about you decouple from your station for ten and then come by my office?"

Great, wonderful, now he's going to get fired on top of everything else. There'll be a mark in a file. _Shabla osik_, he just should have quit last week. But he nods and steps away from the station.

"I'll just take the meter to Quality Maintenance." He mumbles.

"You do that." Hui says.

Gregor rushes off the floor, keeping his eyes on his boots lest someone try to stop him and ask what's wrong. He feels two and like he's just improperly diffused the dummy grenade in a training exercise. His palms are sweating so badly he almost loses his grip on the meter. As soon as he's out of sight of the floor he ducks down a little used hallway and leans against the Mer-Son standard, sea-foam green wall.

He bangs the back of his skull on it; punctuating each rap in his head; _stupid, stupid, stupid_. He stops and breathes, let's the memory of the mistake go like Sergeant Tay'haai had taught him to. He hears the man's voice, oddly soft given his very Mando exterior.

_What you did is done, _dikut_, now what can you do to repair the damage?_

What could he do? This job is getting to him. The lack of sleep, the stress of maintaining their covers, the looming uncertainty of what comes next. They're being consumed by the vagaries, the unending, unanswerable questions, the need to get just a little more information to confirm their suspicions. They're both terrified of being wrong, of jumping at the wrong time and losing the quarry. It's actually starting to become more frightening than the idea that they could be found out. And that's a problem; a great big one. If, when, you got so lost in the pursuit you forgot the danger around you, you became useless as an asset. You're like a drug dealer that's got hooked on their own product, useless to buyers because you've got no sense anymore. The chase cannot be more important than the capture.

He and Thena are right up on that thresh-hold. He's been relying on Thena to pull him back and she's probably been counting on him to do the same. Neither one's capable of that anymore. They've both started to lose perspective.

Gregor breathes in, breathes out, and tries to think of a way to repair the damage. He can see it. One more big push, follow Paremenna all the way to her handlers and get that last piece of the network. He needs to concentrate on that and only that if they're going to pull through this mission. Decision made, Gregor dumps the clearly ruined meter into a discreet trash-chute and heads for Hui's office.

Hui isn't in his office when Gregor gets there. He has to wait outside for another five minutes, being careful neither to bounce from foot to foot in anxiety or stand at parade rest. Hui hustles up, looks a little surprised to see him, but ushers him in with a smile. Gregor doesn't take the chair offered.

"Mr. Hui, I'd like to tender my resignation, effective immediately."

"Tahy, that's not necessary. This is the first major _kriff_-up you've had. I've never had an employee make so _few_ mistakes in their first three months in fact. "

Gregor feels his palms start to sweat again.

"Nevertheless." He starts.

Hui sighs and points at the chair.

"Sit down and don't over-react."

Gregor sits. Hui leans back in his chair and looks at him for a moment.

"Let's go back to what I asked earlier, are you alright? Are you feeling ill? Is it something at home?"

Gregor swallows and shakes his head.

"No, I'm fine."

Hui looks skeptical.

"I know your wife is up in the head office, that's got to be tough. Those types she works for look down on us grease-stained shifters. I hope that attitude isn't rubbing off on her."

Gregor frowns and makes a sound that Hui clearly interprets as a protest. He holds a hand up.

"It's not my business, you're right. Look, Tahy, you're a good employee and I don't want to lose you. It's the end of the week, shift's got two more hours. Take those off, take a walk. There's a...thing down at Raks tonight, just shift-grunts. Why don't you meet Crent at the diner on Duchess and come by, just relax and unwind? It won't be like Pasek's. Crent mentioned that you didn't seem to care for that sort of place. Raks isn't like that. It's much more...civilized. We'd love to have you."

Hui's smiling his loveable, fatherly smile and it's got every instinct in Gregor's head suddenly screaming that he's in danger. But he's always been in danger here on Kirvella hasn't he? And, come to think of it, from what he's heard of Raks's it's east of the plant. Just where he wants to be to track Parmenna. It's a risk, probably an unnecessary one, but he's already nodding and agreeing to meet Crent at the Royal Inn at six tonight. He'll use tonight to recce the area, plan out the end game. He just needs that one, final piece of information and then he'll drop the extract code on the Nulls. Just one last confirmation and they're home free.

* * *

He waves Thena to let her know he'll be late. She waves him back to tell him Livvet's asked her for help on something. Gregor calls her. She picks up on the fourth buzz.

"Be careful." He says before she can even greet him. She sighs.

"Of course. But this is the first time he's asked. And we've got a brand-new weapons system proto-type that's about to be announced."

"Yeah, we're having a meeting about it on my end next week."

"If he's really up to something...won't this be just the thing?"

"I know _Ten'ika_, I know. Just be careful."

"You too baby."

She out-coms before the phrase on the tip of his tongue rolls off. It's probably better that way, one more complication they don't need right now. He stows the com quickly and turns up his collar against the rising wind. It's two minutes to six and he's outside the Royal Inn waiting for Crent. The man lopes up from Duchess street, sees Gregor and grins.

"What're you doing out here?"

"Er, I think I shouldn't make things worse with that waitress." Crent peers in the windows, catches sight of the woman Gregor accidentally rebuffed when he first arrived and laughs.

"Oh, I see. You're probably right. She can hold a grudge. You should ask Kai about that, hoo boy. I think she spits in his food to this day."

Gregor grimaces. Crent laughs again and administers one of his bone rattling shoulder pats.

"To Raks! Follow me, my lad."

The turn east down ninth street, walking with the wind to their backs. Crent is rambling on about the local bollo-ball team, who are terrible this season, as usual. Gregor tries to add a word here and there to seem engaged but the howling gusts make it difficult. Crent doesn't seem to mind. The end of the week has put him in a good mood. He talks almost the whole way there.

Raks is a small restaurant way out by the old, little used East Space Dock. It's a ramshackle building that seems to wrap itself around the base of one of the closed Space Lifts. The massive size of the single support strut, of which there are five more, makes Raks's seem small, though on closer inspection the building sprawls on for more than three Kirvella standard blocks in all directions. Crent heaves the door open with considerable, practiced force and Gregor is taken momentarily aback by the light and the din that spills onto the street.

Crent leads him in but get lost quickly in the crush. There's easily two hundred people here Gregor guesses and not all of them are from Testing, not by a long shot. He recognizes a few faces who appear out of the crowd to welcome him and push him on toward the back of the room. He stumbles up to the edge of a makeshift stage, just some boards raised up on old stone blocks along the far wall. Kai and Madan are both suddenly there, beaming and slapping him on the back.

"Welcome!" Kai shouts, face red though his breath doesn't smell of drink.

"I knew you'd come. I knew it." Madan adds, just as strangely elated.

"On your own too, well I guess we suggested it, but I thought you'd have to be...well I was wrong and Mads was right."

Madan laughs.

"Oh it is a day of days, Kai just admitted I was right."

Gregor wants to ask what is going on. This is clearly not a restaurant. There's no tables and the bar on the opposite wall is dusty and derelict. He's got a bad feeling about all of this, especially given who is climbing onto the stage.

Herrox, the malingerer, stands for a moment, hands raised over his head. The crowd stutters into silence.

"Brothers and Sisters, I am glad to see so many of you able to join us tonight. I know it grows more and more difficult in these disordered times. Thanks to the stevedore transporters for bringing those from off planet who wished to join us this evening."

He bows to a hulking pair of men in stained coveralls who bow back. Then Herrox continues.

"But I am not here to speak to you about the disorder of the galaxy. You already know it too well I think."

A chuckle ripples through the room. Herrox smiles for a moment, then speaks on.

"No tonight, brothers and sisters, I have good news. Good news first for us, faithful servants of Mother."

This gets another chuckle.

"But also as citizens who embrace order and progress. Brothers and sisters, Mer-Son industries has been fully approved by those sniveling fools in the Senate to take over the whole of the special weapons contract for the Grand Army of the Republic."

The crowd explodes in cheers. The floor beneath Gregor's feet shakes with the stamping of hundreds of feet. He's again slapped on the back by Madan and Kai who are yelling with almost mad joy. Gregor cheers along as best he can, trying to hide his confusion. After a full five minutes of celebratory noise Herrox holds his hands up again. Gradually, silence returns.

"This is indeed a marvelous development. Finally, the production of munitions for our glorious army is in the hands of people who respect and value strength. But there is still more to do. We have but half of the work we should. Our competitors still steal the labor that should rightfully be ours to distribute to their barbarous cronies. They envy us. They fear us, brothers and sister, and they will stop and nothing to sabotage us.

"I know for a fact that there is, here on Kirvella, a network of saboteurs who look to undermine us for their own petty gain. And do you know why, brothers and sisters?"

The crowd roars in response. Gregor feels the sweat running down his back. It has nothing to do with the press of bodies. What is this? Has he really been so completely wrong? Have the Separatists always been here in the lower ranks? But they don't sound like Separatists. Herrox is going on about the GAR like it's a good thing. But Herrox's version of the usual Republic propaganda is badly twisted. There's clearly something wrong here.

He tries to stay calm. Herrox isn't talking about him, his cover's good. Crent and Hui and Madan and Kai were all so pleased he came. They're not about to fall on him and tear him apart. Still, Gregor surreptitiously slides his hand into his jacket, fingers just touching the grip of one of the blasters. He's still got his miniature arsenal. He's got a panic switch on his com. All he has to do is trigger it and the Nulls will converge on the planet. They'll get Thena off-world even if he doesn't make it out of this room. He slips his other a hand into his pocket, cradling the com unit and smiles grimly. Even if he's about to die these _chakaar_ are going to know they've been in a damned fight before he does. Herrox is still screaming at the crowd.

"They fear us! They fear our clarity of purpose. For in our singular devotion to that which is good, that which brings order to chaos we are outside their petty concerns of money and ambition. These small people, these deluded individuals would set us one against the other, as they have in this foolish conflagration that burns the galaxy. But they will fail brothers and sisters. Our unity will stop them."

The throng howls again. Gregor frowns and keeps his hand near the holster of the blaster.

"Even now we have our people moving into position. The enemy is cunning but our trap is set. We will stop them. And when they and the rest of their sniveling brethren are crushed what will we have?"

"Freedom." Roars the mob. Gregor feels it thrum against his heart.

"Freedom!" Herrox bawls back. "True freedom through the leadership of the rising order. Freedom from want, freedom from the fear and uncertainty of competition. One need not have money to succeed or luck, or political connections, merely a strong arm and a strong heart.

"I ask that you keep the faith now, brothers and sisters. Stay strong, stay the course. The board is set we move against them, here and across the galaxy. For they are weak and blinded by their own greed and ambition. But we see as they cannot. Our time is approaching, it grows nearer by the day. With each gun we produce, with each tank, shield and ship Mother's people build we ensure that our future will not be held in the soft, weak hands of the decadent classes that now rule us. We are laying the foundation for a rule of strength and unity. We are the strong, our values will prevail and those who cherish them equally will stand for us.

"Soon, brothers and sisters. Soon."

He leaps off the stage. Gregor expects another cheer but, to his surprise Crent clambers onto the boards and begins to speak.

"Strength through Order."

The crowd echoes him, like waves breaking in a sea-cave.

"Peace thorough Order."

"Certainty through Order."

"Freedom through Order."

The horde calls back to him each time. The last phrase though is repeated three times, growing louder each time. Gregor shivers at the fanatical light reflected in the eyes of everyone around him. He should chant along, keep his cover, but he can't make his mouth form the words.

Crent steps off the stage and the crowd begins to break into clumps. Gregor noticed Herrox moving among them, stopping to speak to each cluster. He almost jumps when he feels and arm on his elbow. It's Crent, ruddy and beaming.

"You've got to stay on. Herrox needs to ask you something. Welcome to the Select brother, what'd you think?"

Madan and Kai suddenly push in close.

"Well, what'd you think?" Kai repeats.

"Er, I've never heard anything like that." Gregor stammers at length.

"Yeah, Herrox can be a bit of a wind-bag." laughs Madan. Crent slaps the back of his head good naturedly.

"We need talkers, they help give the order its framework." He says.

"What is this?" Gregor finally asks, unable to stop himself. Kai answers him.

"We call it the Select."

"We?"

"The Mer-Son sector. All these people work for Mother, they're from all around the sector. We meet like this once every few weeks or so, as many people from around the sector as possible. There's other groups like us, so Herrox says. He's been to other sectors to meet with some of them."

"Yeah, but why do you meet?"

"Because the Republic rots from within and we would save it." Says Herrox, gliding up next to Gregor. Gregor bristles a little at the man's implication.

"It doesn't look so bad from what I've seen." He rumbles warningly.

Herrox smiles his reptile smile.

"You've not seen much then. But I forget, you are new here. From Mandalorian space?"

Gregor nods.

"There is a culture with much to admire. It values strength and courage. Honesty rather than double dealing and greed. Is that not true?"

Gregor shrugs, still wrong-footed. Herrox smiles wider.

"That is all we want for the Republic. The senate and their witch-arbiters weaken us so that they may squat securely on top of the heap while we fight for scraps."

"So you want to get rid of the Senate?"

"No, merely improve it, prune it a bit, replant the good shoots in more fertile soil."

He's got to play along. He's got to find out what they're game is. He shrugs.

"I'm not a political man."

"Neither am I." Kai says.

"Nor me." Adds Crent. "But this isn't about politics."

"What's it about then?"

"Our future."Herrox says, voice oddly hushed. "It's about choosing whether to be inside the building when it inevitably collapses or stand outside."

"What about shoring up the old building" Gregor points out stubbornly. Herrox smirks at him.

"There is not shoring it up I'm afraid but we can rebuild from the rubble."

"You use a lot of metaphors friend." Gregor growls, tired suddenly "suppose you come out and tell me what you want?"

Herrox looks disappointed that he's not getting to talk more.

"There is someone you need to talk to. He's this way." Herrox says finally.

Gregor plants his feet, smelling a rat.

"Why can't they talk to me here?"

"Because discretion is still essential to this organization. We have...enemies."

Gregor still balks.

"No dice gentlemen. I'm not getting involved in some clandestine political _poodoo_ and risking my place here. You explain what this is and what you want now, here, or I'm out."

It's a bluff. He needs to know who this secret contact is and just meeting the person would be easy. But he also needs to keep to his cover. And he is genuinely curious as to whether or not these idiots are Sep sympathizers or some exotic new political cell that needs to be kept an eye on. He's betting that, if these guys genuinely want him in, they'll cough up the information rather than risk him leaving.

Herrox frowns, Madan and Kai look uncomfortable and Crent bites his lips.

"We are not clandestine Gregor. This is a branch of the Commission for the Protection of the Republic." Says a female voice behind him. Gregor spins away from the half circle of his colleagues in shock. Marla Lenko, sleekly groomed and looking ten years younger than he remembers, glides out of the crowd.

"There are a number of branches all over the Inner Rim. Several on Coruscant itself. We even file taxes." She gives him a cool smile and lays a fine boned hand on his arm.

"Why all the secrecy then?" He asks, voice sticky in his throat with surprise. Mrs. Lenko shrugs elegantly.

"Sadly the leadership of this Sector is...rather cautious in its politics. Not unlike your former employers I think, though we of course are not openly neutral. Sadly, political activity of any kind, even the beneficial sort, is strongly discouraged. "

Gregor blinks at her several times, at a loss for any other kind of response. She sighs,

"Gregor please step into the back room. You have my word that no harm will come to you. There is a...delicate matter that we need to discuss with you. One that you do not want all and sundry to hear."

He could snap her arthritic neck, right here. It would take one point two, three seconds. Then he could shoot Crent, Madan and Kai before they moved. Another one and a half seconds is all it would take. That next half second he could use to grab Herrox, cram the searing barrel of the blaster to his head. Three seconds and he could drag the sniveling little demagogue out, hit the panic button, steal a speeder, get back to the apartment, get Thena, and get the hot_ haran_ out of here. Let the Nulls sort this _osik_ out. He's out of his depth. He could do that but he didn't. Instead he lets his lying _schutta_ of a landlady pull him into what must once have been the office of this place when it was still a restaurant.

There's a man waiting in the bare room with his back to the door, white haired but still with remnants of the broad shoulders and strong arms of his youth. Mrs. Lenko shoos the four Testing stragglers out, even Herrox, and firmly shuts the door in their curious faces. Gregor takes two steps into the room and stands, feet shoulder width apart, weight balanced, hand on the blaster. The man tucks the com he's been looking at into an interior pocket of his dun colored jacket and turns around as soon as he hears the door click shut. Gregor feels a cold rush of shock slam through him.

"Gregor. Sorry there's nowhere to sit and for all the dramatics. I very much need to speak with you though." Says Petrus Arricnak.


	11. Chapter 11

This chapter is rated M for violence. If you are uncomfortable with that please stop now.

* * *

Petrus Arricnak, wearing a viperous smile, holds out both his hands as if to say 'look at me, I'm just a harmless old man, fatherly, trustworthy.' Gregor barely suppresses the urge to shoot him. Arricnak drops his hands when Gregor doesn't move but keeps smiling. He also stays exactly where he is, right up by the back wall of the room. It saves his life. If he moves even a millimeter closer Gregor knows that there is nothing in the Universe that will stop him killing the man.

"Please, Gregor. Calm down. I mean you no harm. None of us do, really."

"Then why do this? Why like this?"

"Why did we conceal our motives from you, you mean?"

Gregor nods once.

"Because you are clandestine, Mandalorian agent sent to scout us out. Probably to sabotage us. Filthy Separatists." Mutters Mrs. Lenko, venomously.

Gregor doesn't remember moving, has no conscious thought to do so. But suddenly the back of his hand connects with Mrs. Lenko's jaw so hard her head snaps to one side. She staggers and falls to her knees with a gasp. There's blood trickling from her mouth.

Arricnak springs forward. Gregor draws the hold-out blaster on him. The old man freezes.

"Gregor, please!" he says.

"You see Petrus, an animal. Like I said." Mrs. Lenko hisses through bruised lips.

"Shut up bitch." Gregor doesn't recognize his voice. It's dead and flat. "You say another word and I'll kill you."

Arricnak blinks, shocked. Gregor feels a sick, grimace that's almost a smile crawl over his face.

"So explain yourself old man. Tell me why you need me, before I get fed up and do you both."

"We...I know you aren't a Separatist agent." Arricnak says, hurriedly. Mrs. Lenko hisses in surprise or disbelief. Gregor half considers shooting in the leg just to make a point. He refrains, for the moment. Arricnak barrels on.

"You're a clone. An intelligence operative. I imagine you're here looking for the leak in our proto-type plans due to the failures from last year. We're on the same side Gregor."

"How." Gregor has to take a moment to compose himself before he can force the rest of the sentence out, "How do you know that? You think very carefully and you tell me, exactly."

Mrs. Lenko is edging towards the door. She probably thinks she'll be able to throw it open, get help from the rabble outside. Gregor turns and kicks her neatly in the leg, hitting her femoral artery. She gasps and faints. He turns back to Arricnak.

"Talk." He orders, voice lifelessly calm. Arricnak swallows, audibly.

"I...I've been to Coruscant. Several times. I...I know the head of Republic Security. He...he mentioned that there was still a leak after...after we turned Ennis, the old director in. For...for selling plans to the Separatists. I've been looking into it, with help from COMPOR. Marla told me you were a Mandalorian, a proper one, a mercenary. She said she'd seen you talking to one in armor, that you had armor yourself in the apartment. I...I investigated and...the minute I saw the image Hui sent me I knew you were a clone."

"So Hui knows too?"

"No! No. I didn't tell him why I wanted that image. I didn't tell anyone else. I didn't want to compromise your mission. I...we are loyal to the Republic."

"So you knew, all along what I was doing but you did nothing to help. So what do want now?"

"I am helping you. Right now. We are moving against Livvet. He's the leak, him and Tansha Kawit, the assistant that worked for us before your agent came."

"My agent? Thena?"

"Yes...is she actually your-"

"None of your _feking_ business mate. What do you mean moving?"

"A squad of COMPOR operatives is raiding the offices and Livvet's apartment, tonight. If they aren't done already. They'll have him for you, you can interrogate him and no one will ever have to know the army was involved at all. We are loyal, you see."

"Raiding? What about Parmenna?"

"Par-the BlasTech representative?"

"_Haar'chak_ you don't know about her do you? _Feking_ amateur, vigilante _osik_. Yes, Parmenna's the Sep contact. I've been trailing her for weeks to confirm. I was going to let her get one more drop, of those new plans that Livvet is supposed to be lifting tonight. I was ready to move on her and the rest of the network. Now you've gone off half-charged and she's gonna run, you _kriffing_ fool. "

"I...I had no ide-"

"Shut it. When did you say that larisbrained raid of yours was going off?"

"Now, probably already happened actually."

"_Shabla osik_. What were their orders?"

"Orders?"

"The raiders, damn you. What were they told to do?"

"Sw-sweep up everyone in the office and apartment. Livvet and Kawit."

"_Everyone_ or just those too?"

"Ev-everyone."

Gregor actually feels the blood drain out of his face. His veins go icy with adrenaline. Every hair on his body stands up as he realizes what _everyone_ means in context.

"Where are they taking them?"

"What? I?"

Gregor grabs the old man and strikes him across the face with the butt of the blaster. Arricnak coughs and looks bewildered.

"I don't know. I don't know where they're being taken. I was to be informed after they arrived. Then I would bring you."

"Change of plan. Find them. Now."

"Wh-why?"

"Because your thugs have my wife along with Livvet."

"How?"

"She was working late with him, assembling the plans."

"Why?"

"Because I asked her to, to keep an eye on him."

It wasn't quite true. Really it had been Thena's idea to stay. But that doesn't matter. He should have known. Should have never let her be in that situation in the first place. Now he has to get her out before those fools do anything to hurt her.

Arricnak goes grey as he looks into Gregor's face.

"I-I'll find them."

"You had better. And, Deputy Director Arricnak, if Thena's been injured, if she's even frightened by the time I see her there is nothing in this universe or any other that will save you from me. I will burn Mer-Son to the ground and sow the soil of this planet with salt. And then I will kill you myself, slowly."

The old man is shaking; tears leaking from his faded blue eyes. He nods wildly. Gregor stares at him for a moment longer.

"Com me when you have her. And give me your keys."

"My k-keys?"

"For your speeder. I need it."

The other man doesn't move. Gregor reaches into his trouser pocket and extracts the keys himself.

"Wh-where are y-you going?" Arricnak stammers in a querulous, boy's voice. Gregor pauses, hand on the door knob.

"To finish the mission. I'm getting Parmenna before she vanishes. Because I am a soldier of the Republic."

Even as he yanks the door open and stalks through the crowd he feels black despair freezing his heart. No one stops him or calls out to him. They spring back like magnets faced with an identical, polar charge. He finds the speeder quickly, the only high end model visible, and drives north; twisting the hoop in his ear until he catches the frequency of the tracker he installed in Parmenna's speeder four days ago. Keying up his secondary com to project a visual of the signal on the windshield, he sees that she's heading north, fast. He opens up on the throttle and follows.

He watches the road but doesn't see it. He doesn't run through the possible scenarios that may unfold when he catches up with Parmenna. He's on autopilot; full commando mode. His brain is screaming through nightmare scenarios of Thena shot by a careless blaster bolt, stabbed by Livvet when he realizes he's cornered. He sees Thena dead a thousand ways as he frantically holds down the panic button on his secure comlink. But he keeps driving north, because he's still too much a clone, because he accepted the mission. He's got to complete it, even if it costs him the every piece of humanity he's found for himself.

* * *

Livvet is sobbing quietly. They are alone in the back of the rocking industrial speeder, he and Thena. When the band of humans in dark fatigues burst into the office he had been all outraged shock; demanding their names, the nature of their business, threatening them with his connections. All useless. They'd been thrown down, roughly searched, had their hands plastoid-cuffed behind their backs, and had bags of some stinking, dark material thrown over their heads. On the way into the speeder she had heard them punching and kicking Livvet. For some reason they haven't hit her at all yet.

The three men, or was it four, are in the passenger compartment now and all of Livvet's fury is gone. Thena wishes he'd stop crying. The sound, coupled with the smell of the bag; like old vomit, is more unsettling than the kidnapping. But she doesn't say anything to the man. She can't say anything. For some reason, from the instant she caught sight of that first black clad male kicking in the office door she's been unable to force herself to speak.

It's shock, certainly and desperate fear. If she's been taken what does that mean for Gregor? Is he still free? Will he realize she's gone and come looking? Or is he dead in a gutter somewhere on the east side of the city? She refuses to entertain that idea. It makes her dizzy, makes the stench of the last person who wore this bag unbearably worse. Instead she focuses on her one, desperately bleak ray of hope.

Just before the kidnappers grabbed her she managed to smash her secure com under the chair leg. Gregor told her that in case of emergency she was to destroy it. As soon as she did it would trigger a signal to the Nulls that the op was compromised. When he'd said it she heard, or thought she heard, an implication in his words. That a compromised op would mean several heavily armed clones at least as well trained as Gregor riding to their rescue. She hopes she's right. She hopes she can hold out long enough for them to find her.

The speeder lurches to a stop, throwing both of them to the floor. Livvet lands on top of her, crushing the air out of her lungs. He makes no effort even to roll off. The rear doors are yanked open seconds later and they're dragged out. The building the kidnappers take them into echoes slightly but seemed less cavernous and less drafty than an industrial space would have been. The floor feels smooth, almost slick under her thing work shoes, polished maybe. Every few meters they pass voids of sound; places where their footsteps suddenly seem quieter for a stride or two. They stop suddenly at one of these voids and Thena hears the metallic clatter of old fashioned keys in a lock. Doors, the voids are doors, she realizes as they're shoved forward into the room.

She is forced into a chair and the plastoid cuffs are switched out for electromag restraints that keep her hands behind her and locked against the metal of the chair. Someone pulls the bag off her head. They're in something that looked very much like a primary school classroom. There are no desks though, no cubbies or coat racks or flimsi artwork. But the worn red-brown carpet is eerily similar to what Thena remembers of her school days, dirtier certainly but comparable. There's even a sturdy old vid screen of the type she remembers her teachers using to write or illustrate lessons in front of her. In her fear-drunk state Thena finds herself peering at it, searching for the palimpsest ghosts of old phrases and equations that were always just visible on the model from her school days.

A human male in the ubiquitous black fatigues of the kidnappers steps in front of the screen.

"Hello Director Livvet." He bows ironically toward the man. "Dilute scum." He says in the same politely calm voice, with a nod toward Thena.

"My name is Uthull." The man continues. "I have several questions that I am going to need your aid to answer."

Livvet gulps but makes no other noise. Loathsome as she generally finds him, Thena is a little bit proud of him for pulling himself together. Uthull raises his thick, gingery eyebrows momentarily. Livvet remains silent. Uthull shrugs; his ditch-water colored eyes impassive.

"First question," he says softly. "How long have you been working for the Separatists?"

"I-I don't." Livvet gibbers, thickly.

Uthull turns his dead eyes to Thena.

"Filth?"

Anger frees her voice.

"I don't."

Uthull sighs.

"Fine. We'll come back to that. Next question. Who recruited you to work for the Separatists?"

"No one!" Screams Livvet. "I don't work for them. What are doing? You have the wrong man. Let me go!"

Uthull ignores his outburst and looks at Thena.

"What he said." She answers.

Uthull nods to someone behind her. A heavy hand slams into her cheek. The chair goes over with the force of it. She lands hard, her left shoulder absorbing much of the shock. She grits her teeth and refuses to cry out.

"Don't get mouthy filth." Uthull says pleasantly. "Next question. Who is in your network?"

Livvet is about to start crying again. From where she lies Thena can see his legs quivering in fear. His trousers are wet. There is a small puddle forming under his chair.

"No network." Livvet blubbers. "There's no network. I work for Mer-Son Industries. There is no network."

Uthull pinches the bridge of his nose in exasperation. He does not ask Thena the question.

"Alright. Look, I'll make this simpler." He nods again and Thena hears boots stomping across the carpet. The door opens and stays open. Moments later the boots are back. There is a third person between them, another prisoner. Thena cranes her neck to see who it is.

The red headed woman, the old assistant, stands between the pair of burly goons. There is blood crusted around her nose. It seems broken. Both of her eyes are black. She is very pale and limping badly. Judging by the way she curls forward, even while standing, Thena thinks she must have been beaten around the midsection, probably there's internal bleeding. They must have taken her earlier in the day; had her for hours.

Livvet gasps and begins to whimper. Uthull ignores him for a moment and walks to Thena. He bends down and lifts her chair upright with little effort. He leans close.

"I'll start with you, give you a chance to make amends for being smart. You know this woman, filth?"

Rage blinds her for a moment, white and searing. She spits in his leering face. Uthull blinks, stands up, cracks his neck, and backhands her. The chair rises off the ground and flies into Livvets as it falls. Somewhere above her she hears Uthull's voice.

"We'll come back to that one. Your turn pretty boy. Pick him up lads. I want him to be able to see properly."

Thena's floating somewhere at the edge of unconsciousness, fighting the tide pulling her down. Uthull's a monster, probably has cyber-muscle enhancements or he's on Roidents. The cheek bone he struck feels spongy. She's laying next to the puddle of Livvet's piss. Some of it's soaking into her hair. The smell makes her want to vomit.

Livvet's babbling something above her. The sound is cut off by the crack of a slug-thrower. Livvet starts to scream. The red head falls limply to the floor in front of Thena. No, the red head's body falls to the floor. the back part of her skull is gone, shot away by the slug-thrower. Her blood soaks into the carpet; exactly matching the color. For some reason there's a tiny smile on her ravaged face. Thena feels herself trying to smile back. It seems rude not. Her cheek hurts and won't move right though.

"Something funny, filth?" Comes Uthull's voice.

Boots appear in front of her, obstructing her view of the red head's corpse. Someone reaches down and disengages the restraints. Not thinking, scared past all reason, Thena launches herself in the air. She tackles the man who freed her hands around the knees. He falls hard, wheezing as the breath is knocked from him. She leaps up onto his chest, straddling him, digging her thumbs into his eyes. The man screams and claws at her but she holds on, digs in harder. Suddenly her back seizes up and she falls forward, hit by a badly aimed stun-shot. A hand grabs her by the hair and drags her off the bloody-eyed kidnapper. He's gurgling and clutching at his face.

"See to him." Uthull snaps, twisting his hand in her hair. He begins to drag Thena out of the room. Her legs won't respond, no matter how she tries to force them to.

"Sagac, help me here." Uthull orders. "Terrett, you get Ag to the med-droid. We'll give pretty boy some time with his girlfriend, neh? See if it makes him more amenable."

Thena blacks out as the red-haired kidnapper heaves her over his shoulder. She comes to as they descend a dark metal stair case that rings like rusty bells with each boot fall. At the bottom of the stairs they pass under a thick fire proof barrier-gate. It hangs from the ceiling like a portcullis. The hall the enter is badly lit, lights every few meters and thick, cold darkness between. The walls are covered with shiny, white tiles. There are drains along the center of the permacrete floor.

Feeling is starting to return to her legs. Her feet tingle with neuralgic shocks. The bald kidnapper, Sagac, opens a door toward the end of the hallway. Uthull ducks inside; strangely careful not to smack any part of her into the door frame. Her hips are hurting now. She wiggles her toes discreetly in her shoes as Uthull swings her around his back, cradling her.

She sees the alloy table, lit blue from below and edged with silvery, diagnostic sensor arrays. There are straps along the edge as well. Her spine still isn't functioning properly, she can barely squirm as Uthull lowers her gently to the chilled surface. She hears the other man leave the room; door sliding shut behind him.

"Top of the line Neuro-Muscular scanner, capable of working at an atomic level. Got it from the Cloners."

Uthull begins strapping her legs down as he speaks.

"This is a custom job. Usually there's an analgesic dispenser that connects either to the spine or as an inhaler. We won't be needing that."

He's strapping her hips and waist to the table now. But the effects of the stunner have worn off, she can move her fingers freely. He turns away from her a moment to adjust something on a panel just out of her eye line. There's a tray of medical equipment next to the table, serrated scalpels and hooked forceps and half a dozen more bladed, nightmare tools. Just looking at them kicks her heart rate into overdrive.

Carefully, she reaches for the tray. Her fingers can just touch one of the knives. She wiggles it off, slicing her palm in the process. She turns the scalpel carefully so the handle rests in her palm, blade against her wrist. Just in time, she slides it under her forearm just as Uthull turns around.

"I've been wanting to test this beauty out." He continues "I've seen it used in some of the facilities they've got on Sentax-2. Fascinating. This'll flay flesh from bone without even breaking the skin, tear through your brain so that you can't help but tell a man anything he wants to know. Puts those black robed wizards to shame it does."

He gently brushes her hair back from her temples and slips a loop around her skull, tightening it fussily.

"But...they say I'm not to use it on citizens, or humans at all in spite of all of my protests."

He smiles down at her and reaches for the last set of straps, the ones that will restrain her hands.

"You're not either one of those things though, are you?"

She forces herself up, viciously tearing her abdominal muscles to do so. The head strap rips free. Clumps of her hair come off with it. Swinging the scalpel wildly, she catches Uthull across the chest, opening a rent in his shirt and a fast welling cut along his bicep. He grunts in surprise and lashes out, faster than a human should be able to. Even as she buries the blade in his side his thick fingers close around her throat. She pushes the blade deeper, his fingers tighten. He chuckles and squeezes harder. Her vision swims red, then grey as her lungs burn.

She gasps, suddenly able to breathe, only to have the air in her lungs knocked loose as Uthull hammers her into the table. His grabs her throat again, choking her into submission as he fumbles the straps around her upper body. She refuses to give up, bucking and thrashing as hard as she can, using nothing but adrenaline and terror to fuel her oxygen starved muscles.

Uthull lets go of her throat to pull the scalpel out of his side. Thena surges up, trying to slither free of the restraints. Uthull raises the scalpel and stabs it through the meat of her lower arm, just above her wrist and into the table beneath. Thena shrieks. The pain staggers her, freezes her into shocked, momentary stillness. It's enough, Uthull hits a button on the consol. The straps tighten, binding her into immobility.

Panting, Uthull reaches for the head restraint again, sliding it back on and cinching it tight. Thena convulses as the neuro-leads crackle to life, pulsing against the bare, bleeding spots of her scalp.

"You'll pay for that, filth." Uthull said sweetly. "I'll tear you apart from the inside out until you beg me for death."

She can't move anymore, can't even struggle against the restraints. She can only glare impotently, trying desperately to hide her sick dread, stealing his satisfaction by not letting him see only her anger. Uthull smiles down at her.

"First though, let's get you out of these old things."

He reaches for a pair of shears on the tray and began to cut her blouse open. He yanked the strips off of her and does the same for her skirt and bra. Grinning revoltingly he reaches for her panties. The door slides open.

"Hey boss?" Uthull straightens, annoyed.

"Is there a good _feking_ reason for you to be in her Sagac, because if there isn't..."

"Com for you boss. From our contact here."

"Who? Arricnak?"

"Yes sir. Says it's urgent. Says we missed someone."

"Sith's Teeth, _kriffing_ provincials." He hurls the shears across the room.

"I'll take it upstairs."

Sagac nods and steps into the corridor. He leave the door open. Uthull pauses halfway to it and turns around. Taking two steps back into the room he leans down and kisses Thena tenderly on the forehead.

"I'll be back soon, darling. Don't you worry."

She spits at him again. He dodges it, then spits back into her face. The door hisses shut behind him and Thena can't stop the stuttering wail that's been clawing at the back of her throat from breaking free. She gasps and wishes desperately for the ability to cry, if only to wash the bastard's saliva off her face. Other than her dry, useless sobbing the only sound in the room is the slow drip of blood from her arm.


	12. Chapter 12

Less violence in this chapter so no need to worry. For those of you who prefer not to read the violent bits I will breifly sum up what has come in previous chapters so you are not left out of the plot.

**Summary CH 11: **The conspiracy is revealed. COMPOR is involved and has picked up Thena, not knowing the Clones/GAR are running a simultaneous op. The leader of the COMPOR crew decides to torture Thena for information as Livett (who has also been picked up) seems useless. Gregor chooses to finish the pursuit of the Seps before going after Thena, not knowing how bad the situation is.

* * *

Gregor guns the luxe speeder through the night, keeping pace behind Parmenna's own sleek model. He caught up to her eight or nine kilometers ago, just at the edge of the northern suburbs. As the traffic thins he drops back. At kilometer fifteen, where the suburbs end and the countryside begins, he switches off his lights and follows Parmenna's taillights. He wishes briefly for his bucket and its night vision mode but there was no time to get it. He will not let himself think about Thena.

After ten more minutes driving on the empty, rural roads Parmenna turns down an old, slightly overgrown private drive. Gregor pulls his speeder to a halt as soon as she's finished the turn and leaps out. He stands for a moment and is rewarded with the sound of repulsors swishing over gravel. Smiling grimly, he grabs the blaster from the passenger's seat and runs after the fast retreating car.

The drive goes on for another two kilometers before ending abruptly in what looks like an overgrown field. Parmenna drives straight out onto the grass and pulls around at the far side of the field. Gregor hugs the tree line, watching her. There's no one else visible. Parmenna is out of the speeder now and pacing back and forth in front of the it twenty meters away. Every few seconds she checks something in her hand. Gregor starts to move forward in a crouch. He can hit from ten meters distance, even in the dark with the little hold out gun. Not a kill shot, not yet. He needs whatever information about the network she may still have and then he can trade her for Thena.

There's some kind of ruin in the center of the field; tumbled yellow, stone walls on a slight rise, an old farmhouse. It's the perfect place to take the shot from. Gregor angles his crouched run towards it. He's less than a meter away when someone tackles him.

It's an armored Mandalorian and Gregor's rapidly overpowered. Desperate, he jabs clawed fingers into the gap in the chest plate, under the arm. His opponent yelps and loosens his grip. Gregor rolls, gets up and starts to run towards Parmenna.

"Who is that?" The she yells. Gregor doesn't bother to answer, raising the blaster. His opponent tackles him again, this time rolling as they fall so he can land a punch squarely across Gregor's nose. He hears the bone snap.

"I'm armed." Parmenna yells as Gregor tries to throw his assailant off.

"So am I." Growls the Mandalorian. Parmenna raises a sleek, chromed blaster. The Mando draws a blaster and fires from the hip. Parmenna's shot it wide but she takes the Mando's bolt straight to the chest. Gregor swears and grabs for the Mandalorian's elbow.

"_Feirfek ner vod_." Snarls the Mando and hits him across the jaw. "It was a stunner. A stunner Gregor, she's not dead."

"You're not Jaing and I'm not your brother." Gregor spits through the sticky blood pouring out of his nose.

"No, I'm not, nor Prudii nor Kom'rk either." The Mandalorian gets off of him, holsters the blaster and pulls of his helmet.

"I'm Mereel. And I think some thanks are in order."

"Thanks!" Gregor snarls, dragging himself to his feet. "Thanks for what? Leaving me in the wind for weeks? Not bothering to tell me Republic Intel was already monitoring the situation? Sweeping my wi-Thena up in a raid by mistake? That deserves thanks in your book?"

"_Undesii, undesii_. What are you talking about Republic Intel? There is no other intelligence operation running out here."

"Maybe you should check up on your outstanding ops more than once or twice." Gregor snaps, gingerly assessing the damage to his nose.

"We do check, shiny. There's no official op running, except yours."

"Arricnak said he was working for some organization associated with RIS, COMPOR, he called it. Said the head of RIS gave him data on Levvit personally."

"COMPOR's not an organization, it's a political party. Actually it's not even that. It's a bunch of weird, authoritarian loving blowhards that march around wearing ridiculous armbands and shouting slogans."

"Well here the shout slogans and run raids on Separatist cells."

"_Shabla osik_ are you sure?"

"Am. I. Of course I'm sure. They have Thena. Arricnak comming them to tell the _huut'un_ to let her go. I'm bringing Parmenna in and then I'm collecting Arricnak and his COMPOR buddies. Since you've deecided to join me I'll let you sort them all out in exchange for a ride off this hole for Thena and myself.

Mereel held his hands up in mock surrender.

"Again, _undesii_. I'm sorry I doubted. They still have your girl you think?"

Gregor nodded tightly.

"Arricnack was to com me with the coordinates of her location. He hasn't yet."

"Okay, hold up." Mereel reaches into his belt and pulled out a com link.

"Null Blue to Null Black." He barks into it.

"Null Black to Null Blue." Came the response an instant later.

"Kom'rk I've got Gregor, more or less intact. But I need you to do something else."

"What's more or less intact mean?"

"I had to hit him a little. Nevermind that, have you got the Deputy Head?"

"He's bagged up and on the bed, why?"

"Get him to tell you where the raid took their prisoners."

"Copy. Hold on."

"Where's Kom'rk got Arricnak?" Gregor asks.

"Your apartment, along with that old lady you roughed up."

"Why's he at the apartment?"

"Because he's tossing it. This op is over, we're pulling you out."

Gregor's about to object that he's going exactly nowhere without Thena but Kom'rk's back on the com.

"Null Black to Null Blue."

"Null Blue."

"He doesn't know."

"Say again?"

"The old man. He doesn't know where the hit squad went. Apparently they're loaners from triple zero. He commed them as soon as Gregor left but they refused to give up the location."

"_Shabla_ wonderful. Can you back trace the location through the com?"

"Already on it."

There's a soft beeping from deeper in the field. Gregor looks up. He notices a green light pulsing in time with the beeps. It's coming from Parmenna's unconscious body. He taps Mereel on the shoulder.

"Is that what I think it is?" He asks the Null. Mereel looks in the direction Gregor's pointing.

"If you think that's a locator signal for a craft then yes, I believe it is." Mereel mutters. Before they can say more Kom'rk's voice came through the com.

"Looks like a location over in the south east quadrant."

"Kom'rk can you check that out yourself?"

"Why?"

"I think we're about to get the big link in this network and those _aruetiise_ have Gregor's woman."

"Thena?"

"Yeah, it looks like she got pulled in the raid by accident. Can you head over there? Just hold position and we'll be with you ASAP."

"Don't worry _ner vod_. I'm on it. I'll get Thena out."

Kom'rk signs off. Mereel takes a gusty breath.

"Right, look_ vod_, get your armor on okay? I'm nervous with you running around practically naked if this turns into a shooting party."

"My armor's at the apartment."

"Not the case little brother. I liberated it before I got out here. Listening to Kom'rk tell it I figured you'd go off half-charged against the target and thought I'd bring it by along with my illustrious self to back you up."

He motions to the crumbling wall of the house.

"Go on. Clean your face and suit up. Do it quick. That ship can't be far out if the transmitter's going off."

Gregor wants to argue but realizes it's just a nervous impulse. He stands and walks toward the wall indicated. His armor is still neatly arranged in the mesh bag. Mereel must have grabbed it out of the closet and run. He opens the sack and pulls the pieces out. He's wearing his underlayer beneath his civilian clothes out of habit. Sitting back against the wall he starts slapping the plates on as fast as he can. He finishes by wiping the congealed blood off his nose and lips with his shirt. He won't be needing it again anyway.

"Who else is here, other than you and Kom'rk?" He asks as he adjusts his chest plate. Mereel doesn't answer for a moment. Gregor looks up to find him carrying Parmenna's limp body toward the ruin. He reaches it in a moment and Gregor helps him set the woman down behind another wall. Mereel zips plastoid cuffs around her wrists and ankles.

"Nobody else in range. Prudii's roaring in as fast as he can but he was still hours out when Kom'rk and me hit the dirt."

"Huh. I thought Prudii didn't like me."

"Prudii's weird. He blows hot and cold. Feels guilty and what not."

Gregor has nothing to say to that. Instead he fastens his helmet on and blinks up his night vision. Next to him Mereel pulls his Mandalorian _buy'ce_ back on. Gregor checks his deece, fully charged, extra clips on his belt. He's ready. Mereel's carefully digging out bricks to form a stable platform for a piece that looks more like an errant howitzer than a gun meant for humanoids. Gregor snickers.

"Want to share the joke _ner vode_?"

"Nothing."

Mereel turns toward him. Gregor grimaces, grateful his face is hidden.

"It's…Jaing always used to mention things about…overcompensation whenever you came up in conversation."

"Did he? Well remind me to give Jaing a big, sloppy _kov'nynir _when next I see him. And look sharp little brother. Here they come."

There is indeed a bright dot high in the atmosphere getting bigger. First it's white and hardly distinguishable from the stars. Then it begins to grow and burns yellow, orange and finally magenta-red. The engines are smuggler grade mods; make hardly any sound as they run. Only the downdraft that whips through the grass and trees give away that the ship is even real. It lands quickly and cuts all engine function.

Gregor feels his muscles tense, breathing going deep and fast. His nerves are singing. Time slows to strobe flashes. Mereel holds up a fist. The ramp of the ship drops with a hiss that's only audible because every sense Gregor has is overactive. There are no lights either on the ramp or in the hold. From inside the belly of the craft a blue green light flashes once then, after a pause of exactly one second, again. Mereel raises Parmenna's com and presses a small button on the underside; a similar light flashes. Mereel does it twice in quick sucession. Gregor peers at him. Mereel just shrugs.

"Life is risk little brother." Mereel whispers over the secure com.

Gregor shakes his head. There's movement on the ship. Gregor tenses, takes aim at the atmosphere graded jets in case their preparing to flee. A figure walks cautiously down the ramp. Two more follow. Then a group of five, two in front and back with a tall, oddly hunched figure between them.

Mereel whistles. "Hired guns. Looks like you're not the only one with a panic button."

"Which ones do you want me to take?"

"Do the skinny twins out in front, the bristly looking ones, you see?"

Gregor nods. The pair that's preceding the honor guard quartet. They're some kind of thin, pale skinned humanoids with black lips and dark hair. Both are sporting impressive arrays of sheathed knives. For an instant Gregor's gut roils, they look a little too much like Thena for comfort. But he shuts the feeling down and sites down his barrel.

"_Tracyn_." Mereel barks.

Gregor shoots first one humanoid then the other. Before he can lock in on the lead guard Mereel opens up with his ridiculous cannon. The sound is deafening, the effect impressive. Mereel's aiming over the heads of the party, at the body of the ship. In less than a second the atmo engines are perforated. Another second sees the heat shield over the main habitation bays shredded. Then the heat of the rounds ignites the leaking fuel from the jets. The ship explodes with a bang and a flash like a miniature nova.

The concussion flattens saplings at the edge of the clearing. Parmenna's speeder catches fire in the superheated blast, sending its own roaring column of flame and shrapnel skyward. Gregor and Mereel hunker down behind the remnant of the wall. Gregor feels stones, pieces of mulched trees, and searing pebbles of metal alloy from the ship itself rain down on his back. Before the ground even stops shaking he's on his feet, running toward the smoldering wreckage.

Mereel's shouting something. Gregor can't hear him over the blood clanging through his ears. He wants that hunched figure, it's the key to this puzzle. One of the honor guard is staggering to his feet. Gregor pops his knuckle plate blade and punches the man in the throat. He falls sideways with a shocked gurgle. Two more guards lay motionless, one smoking slightly. The hunched figure is cowering half under the bodies. Gregor kicks the corpses away and grabs the hunchback's robes.

The hunchback tries to head butt him. It's surprisingly hard and painful given that the being isn't wearing a helmet. Then Gregor sees the horn protruding from the top of the thing's head. Koorivar, his brain supplies the species definition. He also realizes his mistake. The creature isn't hunchbacked, its head is almost a meter lower than he'd estimated. The hood disguised it initially.

Species ident made, Gregor knows the fastest way to immobilize the creature now. Kicking the alien in the gut he sets his foot on the horn as soon as it's on the ground. Then he shoots the last three inches off. The Koorivar shrieks.

Suddenly the ground all around them ripples with blaster fire. Gregor throws himself on top of the quarry, it's no good to him dead. The rounds sear over his back plate, one spearing his calf. Gregor grunts but stays prone. Mereel will get him out of this. Seconds later, as silence descends in clouds of dust and vaporized plant matter, Mereel drags him off the Koorivar.

"_Di'kut,_ what'd you pull a _dini'la_ stunt like that for? I had that lead Kyuzo dead to rights before you jumped in front of me. Are you injured?"

"_Dini'la,_ that's rich coming from you." Gregor mutters. "You're pop gun took a chunk out of my calf."

"Serves you right, trying to steal my thunder." Mereel snaps back, even as he's kneeling down to check Gregor's leg.

The Koorivar is whimpering pathetically.

"Are you hit?" Gregor asks it.

"My horn. You shot my horn off you homind barbarian."

"He seems fine." Quips Mereel. "And so do you. It'll hurt like _haran_ tomorrow but you should heal up fine." The Null dispenses a sharp of pain killer in between the plates at Gregor's hip. "There, good as new. Want to introduce your friend?"

"Can't. Don't know him yet. What's you name Sep?"

"I am Quaestuar Kee." Hiccups the Koorivar.

"Does that mean anything to you?" Gregor asks Mereel.

"Indeed it does. You're the brother of Denaria, the aid to that sack of lard who runs the Corporate Alliance, yes?"

"You should speak with respect about the Magistrate of the Alliance you mercenary scum."

Gregor slaps him. Mereel just laughs.

"Cute, especially coming from a cred-grubbing antelope like yourself."

"Let me go and there will be a substantial reward." Gasps Kee.

"You want me to shoot some more off his horn?" Gregor asks.

"Nah, don't make him any uglier than he already is. I want to keep my dinner down."

"What do you want?" Kee whimpers.

"Pick him up." Mereel orders. "Let's see if he knows our lady friend."

Gregor does as he's told, half dragging the sputtering Koorivar toward the wrecked wall. Mereel lopes ahead and pulls Parmenna into an mostly upright sitting position. Uncapping a vial of white powder from his belt he wafts it under her nose.

"Rise and shine sweetheart. You and I need to talk."

She coughs once and opens her eyes. Seeing Mereel's blankly threatening helmet she tries to draw back but is checked by the wall and the cuffs.

"Who are—what do you?"

Gregor shoves Kee forward, letting him trip over the wall and fall nearly in Parmenna's lap. She blanches as she catches sight of Gregor.

"Clone." She whispers maliciously. Gregor raises his rifle.

"Give me a reason." He growls. Mereel makes a disapproving click of his tongue that only Gregor can hear over the closed com. He keeps the gun aimed anyway. Mereel leans back on his heels.

"My friend here is very jumpy and heavily armed. I don't know how long I can keep him on his leash. I suggest you tell me how you know the gentlebeing here," he motions to Kee "and I'll consider getting you away from him before he snaps."

Parmenna frowns and glares, her lips thinning. Kee struggles to sit up, muttering in a language Gregor doesn't know. Mereel sighs.

"Okay, fine. 39, blow off ugly's horn, all of it."

Kee gasps and holds up his hands.

"No, no please. I beg you. I am an agent of the Corporate Alliance. This woman is my counterpart, posed here as a representative of BlasTech Enterprises. She has been providing us with plans and proto-types. We have a formal contract drawn up. I can get you a copy. Please, spare me. Under Alliance law an agreement such as ours is perfectly legal."

Parmenna kicks Kee hard in the stomach. He wretches and falls silent

"Well under _Republic_ law we call that espionage. And we shoot spies." Gregor snarls. Parmenna stares at him defiantly. Kee mewls and bawls. Mereel shakes his head.

"Straight up and down, my friend is. But here, let's do this. I'll go and talk to him, see if he's willing to let me take you two back to Coruscant because the Republic pays well for enemy agents. And, if you've got useful intel they probably won't even vape you. Sound good?"

"Yes, yes." Gasps Kee "Let us make a bargain." Mereel nods at him, then looks at Parmenna. She holds her elegant chin high for several seconds before taking a deep breath and nodding back.

"Excellent. 39, would you step over here? Just a warning by the way you two, either of you move, I'll let him gut you. Understand?

Both nod vigorously.

"_Jate_!"

Mereel led Gregor a short distance away. They don't need to step away to communicate and they were still well within rifle range. Mereel's probably doing it to make the Seps feel more comfortable, get them to trust him so they spill their guts faster.

"I can take it from here _ner vod_. You want to get to your girl?"

It was a generous offer. Gregor almost takes it but stops himself.

"I'll see this all the way through if I can. Have you got trans—"

"Null Black to Null Blue, Null Black to Three-Nine come in." Kom'rk's voice suddenly rips through the com. He sounds panicked. Mereel immediately sends the signal to their joint helmet frequency.

"Black, black this is Blue. 39 on too. What is your status?"

"I've got her. But we're going to need a full medbay. What's Prudii's ETA?"

"Fifteen minutes." Prudii breaks in. "I'm in the outer sector now. I can be at your location in fifteen minutes, twenty tops."

"Can you stand on it _ner vod_?" Kom'rk asks. Prudii grunts an affirmative and signs off.

"What happened? Where are you?" Gregor tries and fails not to shout.

"Coordinates I waved you before, in the SE Quad."

"I'm coming to you."

Mereel nods to him and grasps his forearm.

"Do that. Good luck." Gregor nods, unable to speak. Mereel bangs his helmet against Gregor's

"Run hard, little brother."


	13. Chapter 13

! Here's the big warning again. This is by far the most violent chapter in the fic (also the last really nasty one, promise). PLEASE SKIP THIS IF YOU ARE SENSITIVE TO VIOLENT SUBJECT MATTER HARD R, M RATING, 18X ETC.!

* * *

Thena can longer feel the fingers on her right hand. First they hurt, then they grew cold, now she can't distinguish them from the surface of the table. If she strains her neck very hard she can just see them. They're the color of old fish against the purplish swirls of her blood. The straps over her temples pulse electricity into her brain if she moves too much so she doesn't check often.

The dripping of her blood onto the floor has slowed as sensation ebbed from her fingers. It's all but stopped now. The skin around the scalpel is glued to the table with the clotted remnants. It pulls uncomfortably at her skin. Moving the arm though sends jagged bolts of agony into her shoulder and chest. She endures the discomfort instead.

Uthull has not come back. She can't tell how long he's been gone, the pain in her arm is making her dizzy, nauseous. It was so severe earlier that she started to drift back out of consciousness. Force of will kept her lucid, that and fear of what Uthull might do if he returned to find her passed out. It's gotten easier recently to just float on the soft edges of waking, to drift above the pain. If only she weren't so cold or so thirsty.

There a metallic swish and the breath of air that smells of damp and cordite. Thena blinks. Her vision is going dark again. No, it's not her eyes; there's a shadow over her face. She tries to focus. When she does she can't stop the whimper that escapes her lips. Uthull stands at the left side of the table, one paw-like hand resting on the consol controlling the hateful electronic twinges that bite at her head. He doesn't look angry, merely curious. That panics her worse than rage could have.

"Your friends called me just now." He says.

An image of Gregor's face blazes across Thena's brain. It's so bright it makes her feel warm for an instant. But she buries it almost as fast as she called it up. Gregor's not here, Uthull is, and he promised to tear her secrets from her mind. She won't let him have Gregor. If it kills her she won't give him that she promises to herself.

"Apparently you're working for the Republic."

Thena tries to nod, pathetically hoping that he'll let her go. The electrodes on her skull buzz and sting. Uthull waits for her to stop convulsing before he continues.

"Yeah. Our useless provincial contact just commed me in the most desperate state, asking where we were, demanding we release you. Naturally, I assured him that we could hardly compromise our position by revealing our whereabouts. Then, because he seemed so distressed, I ran a bit of a background check on you, Thena Tahy. Do you know what I found?"

Thena keeps perfectly still. She mentally recites the Ocsinin Stone mantra for calm and detachment.

"Nothing. You have no record in any Republic database. No birth date, no school records, no criminal activity. Certainly no marriage license. You're a ghost, a figment of Petrus Arricnak's imagination. Now I thought this a bit odd so I checked with some...lesser known contacts of mine, just to see if maybe your record had been wiped. But it hasn't, has it? There's a manufactured one floating around in the databases but it's what, four months old, five?"

He steps in close to the table and begins attaching leads to the straps over her chest.

"And do you know who else has got a brand new forged record and no history? Your husband."

Thena stops breathing for a moment. Her heart, already racing, starts to pound so hard she's sure it's audible. Uthull cocks his head, observing her response.

"Interesting. Now, you know what I think, you half-bred whore? I think that you know something about what's going on here that neither brother Arricnak nor that disgusting Sep worm upstairs does. I think _I_ need to know what you do. And I don't particularly care if that old man says you're valuable and not to be harmed. After all, he doesn't know how long I've had you. Could be you've been here for hours and hours before he called. Of course I stopped once I knew you were an ally but...that call came so late in the proceedings."

He reaches for the consol and presses a sequence of keys. There's suddenly a blast of heat and intense pressure along Thena's ribs. She coughs. The pressure is too intense for her to make any other sound. It's so terrible that for a moment she can't breathe at all and thinks he means to smother her. Then it dissipates. There's something catastrophically wrong with her entire torso. While her lungs are drawing in air, and she can feel their movement in the way the press her shoulders up and down slightly, she can no longer feel her chest.

"Neuron impulse inhibitor." Uthull says in his ghastly, conversational tone, "meant to test neural pathway connections after major surgery, see if they were firing right. I especially like the topical numbness it can induce. Delays shock."

Thena knows her heart is beating, she can feel it expanding and contracting against her nerve-dead lungs. The speed of the blood racing through it makes her dizzy. Her right arm begins to hemorrhage again, the dripping of her blood a backbeat to her heart. Uthull reaches across her body for the tray of medical blades, selecting a long, slightly curved one.

"D'you have a favorite bone, or bones? Me, I've always been partial to ribs, the whole rib cage really. It's got such an elegance to it, like a vaulted ceiling."

"Please, don't." She whispers. He pauses and cocks his head at her quizzically.

"Why should I not? Is there something you'd like to trade me for your skin? Literally?"

She bites her lip, then nods. He smiles.

"What would you like to tell me?"

"Livvet, he's not the main Confed agent. He's just a...a conduit, for documents and information."

Uthull clicks his tongue like a mildly disappointed parent.

"We know that, filth. He's sobbed that story out long since. I'm afraid you'll have to do better."

He lowers the scalpel to her skin, resting it just below her right breast. He presses lightly, she closes her eyes, even though she can't feel the blade. Suddenly he grabs her chin.

"Open your eyes you revolting little tramp. You open them and you watch or I will peel you eyelids off."

Her eyes fly open. His face is inches from hers. He stares into her eyes for a long time. Then he smiles tenderly and raises the blade to eye-height. It's perse with her blood.

"Keep them open."

She's too terrified even to blink as he returns his attention to her torso. He glances up every few strokes to make sure she's still watching him. It's impossible to fully make out what he's doing while she's restrained and lying flat, which is no small mercy, she thinks. But every time he takes off a strip of skin he holds it up before elaborately discarding it on the floor, making sure she gets a good look. He chats away as he works.

"The problem with doing this type of work is that bodies tend to flinch. Even with topical anesthesia there's pressure. And, of course, the brain still knows what's going on, even if the nerves are drunk and slow. But this machine is quite the techno-miracle. There are no messages between your brain and right here," he taps her lower sternum with the wet blade, "until I want there to be. And when I do...anesthetic wears off, in dribs and drabs. But with this."

He reaches over and thumbs something on the consol. Thena's scream is so loud it echoes off the tiled wall. Every line he's traced, every groove and score, is burning and freezing at once. He's cutting a pattern into her skin and she can feel every stroke, over and over and over. Each time her heart beats or she draws a breath, no matter how shallow, she feels it. Uthull, grinning, flicks at the consol. The pain cuts off abruptly. Thena gasps and chokes at the suddenness.

"Tell me about your husband. Have been married long? Where's he from?"

She hacks and wretches and refuses to speak. Uthull shakes his head and turns off the inhibitor. Her voice cracks at the height of this scream, body straining against the restraints so hard they cut into her flesh as well. Uthull turns the machine on again and begins to wipe at her stomach and ribs.

"What's his name? His real name? Who are working for?"

She bears her teeth at him. Whatever he was wiping her wounds with feels like pure gall when he forces her nerves to work again with the machine. He leaves her scream for a good long time, until she's hoarse. Until the pain is so intense she's on the verge of fainting. In the end she screams out a name to make the agony stop.

"Parmenna!"

The inhibitor hums back to life, her neural impulses crash to a halt.

"Your husband's name is Parmenna?"

"She...works for...the Confed. Main agent contact. Apartment in north quadrant."

Uthull sighs.

"That's not what I asked you, is it?"

He takes up a fresh scalpel, smaller than the last one. He's not let her feel anything yet.

"Tell you what, I'll give you a few minutes to think about it."

Now he leans across her, starting low on the left side near the ridge of her pelvis. This time she can see what he's doing every time he straightens to pull off a bit of flesh. It looks like he's writing in some elaborately embellished script, or making a line drawing of vines and trees with the knife. She watches impassively, strangely fascinated; like this isn't her body he's slicing to bits. The blood is flowing sluggishly from the cuts. She wonders if the nerve-deadening function hinders the capillaries as well. She opens her mouth to ask him. He turns to look at her.

"Yes? Did you want to say something?"

A laser round takes him in the jaw, flinging him two meters into the far wall. Thena blinks, mildly surprised.

"_Shabla haran_. Thena? Thena are you alive?"

She blinks again, unsure who's speaking. It sounds familiar but off somehow. A strange creature with an oddly bullet shaped head appears beside her. She stares hard at it for several seconds as it mutters.

"Helmet." She says.

"What? Thena, what happened?"

"It's a helmet. Not your head."

"Yeah, yeah it's a helmet _Ten'ika_. Look." The creature pulled off its helmet and becomes a man. Thena frowns.

"You're not-"

"I'm Kom'rk. You remember me?"

"You don't call me that."

He looks confused for a moment, then laughs a little wildly.

"Okay, whatever you say. Are you, can you walk?"

She looks down at herself, then up and him and shakes her head. He nods and reaches for the consol.

"No!"

"What? Thena I'm getting you out of here. Back to Gregor."

"No. Please don't do that. It hurts."

He frowns, then turning to examine the consol more closely. She can't understand what he's saying but the viciousness in his voice is clear as he looks at the screen. He turns away from the table and begins rummaging through the cabinets along the walls. He starts muttering savagely to himself again as he stands up and crosses over to her.

"Thena, listen to me. I need to get more bacta packs and vinchine. There's bound to be some in the other rooms. I'll be back very soon. I need you to hang on, okay? _K'oyacyi_, stay alive. Got it?"

She nods a little and he tries to smile.

"One minute." He says and sprints out of the room.

When he's gone though, the man who isn't quite Gregor, she can't remember his name from minute to minute, it's very hard to stay awake. The inhibitor is holding the pain at bay but she's worn out from waiting on the knife's edge for it. The only sensation she feels is cold now, cold and wet and she wants it to stop. She wonders idly where Uthull's gone. He could be back any second. Maybe if she closes her eyes she'll just waft off somewhere where he can't find her. Somewhere she doesn't have to worry about the pain coming back.

Someone is rubbing her cheeks, slapping them lightly. She pulls away from the sensation.

"Thena, are you with me?"

She opens her eyes, grudgingly. Not-Gregor is there looking down at her. She's supposed to be doing something for him. What was it?

"I'm going to put this," he holds up a pale blue gel pack "on your ribs and down on your hip, okay?"

She nods after a moment.

"Once I do I'm going to have to turn off the impulse inhibitor. It'll only be for a few seconds. Then I'll jab you with as much vinchine as you can take and still walk. I need you to be strong and hold still now."

"Stay alive." She croaks. He looks bewildered.

"You needed me to stay alive before."

He gives that wild sort of laugh again.

"Yeah and look how good you did. So now the bar gets raised. You think you can do that?"

"Sure, why not?"

"Blithe overconfidence. I like that. Okay, bacta first. Then you gotta be really tough and really still."

She doesn't watch him put the blue packs on her sides. She closes her eyes and drifts because she can now. Then he reaches for the scalpel still impaling her arm, wrapping his hand around the handle to pull it free. She screams and thrashes. One of the packs on her hip fell to the floor with a wet smack.

"_Fierfek_! I thought you-" Kom'rk yells.

"Middle, only the middle." She gasps.

Kom'rk swears in Mandalorian again and pulls something off his belt.

"Bite down on this. I can't risk giving you any drugs until the inhibitor's off. " He presses the thing from his belt against her mouth. After a moment she remembers how to work her jaw and takes it between her teeth. It's a small knife with a leather wrapped handle. It tastes like dust and salt. She concentrates on that as Kom'rk reaches for the scalpel again. He yanks it free and slaps the bacta pack over the visible hole in her arm in what looks like a single motion. Her eyes water and she goes rigid, teeth deep in the handle but she doesn't move.

"Good girl." Kom'rk murmurs soothingly as he opens up another bacta pack and reapplies it to her hip. He tapes it and the ones on her arm and ribs down.

"Okay, now the hard part. I'm gonna turn off the inhibitor. Try to slow down your breathing; deep breaths, in, count to four, then breath out. I'm going to leave the straps on until the vichine kicks in okay? Don't panic. Bite down on that knife as hard as you can."

He walks around to the consol. Thena knows she's watching his every move with terrified eyes, fearing the pain even more than the very real possibility that she's going to bleed to death on this table. It isn't making his job easier but she can't stop herself. He looks down at the screen, then up at her, then down again. He takes several deep breaths of his own and presses his hand to the display.

The pain is like a living thing inhabiting her body with her. It claws up her spine and howls across her chest. Lights of every imaginable color flash behind eyelids she's screwed shut. She keeps from screaming by biting down on the knife handle so hard her teeth hit the metal tang. But she can't stop the sounds the pain forces out of her throat. Terrible animal whimpers and inhuman groans slip out around the edges of her teeth. Her muscles spasm, too weak to stay rigid for more than a few seconds at a time but the relaxing, the acceptance of the pain, is too hideous to bear. They tense again, trying to break the grip of the pain. Somewhere far away Not-Gregor, the pain has stolen his name from her again, is speaking. He sounds scared, desperate. He's pleading with someone to do something. She can't make it out.

Then the pain ebbs a little. It isn't the sudden lack of sensation of the inhibitor but it's something. There's a warmth in her unspoiled right hip. It's spreading slowly up and out. It doesn't really end the hurting but it makes it seem unimportant. She sighs as it reaches her head, feeling warm and almost peaceful. Something clatters to the floor just below her ear. She feels lighter, like she could float away; untethered. A wave of déjà-vu laps at her when she realizes someone is touching her face, slapping her cheeks. She slowly focuses he, unaware that she had opened them in the first place.

"Sit up _Ten'ika_. We need to get the bacta packs wrapped before you can move. Come on, slide your leg over the table. There you go. Stay up. You can do that."

"You're not Gregor...Gregor calls me that." She reasons again. Not-Gregor grins.

"Well I'm taking some liberties. You can come slap my smart mouth when you're better."

There's a pressure around her ribs. It reminds her that there's still a hideous gyre of pain circling there. She looks down. A pair of brown skinned hands are unspooling very white bandages around her midsection. It's fascinating to watch. The hands finish the wrapping quickly and disappear from her line of sight. Suddenly her chin is lifted up and she's staring into a pair of worried brown eyes.

"You good to stand _Ten'ika_? Here, left hand on my shoulder. I've got you."

She stands up, though her legs feel very distant and odd. She shivers when the soles of her feet hit the permacrete floor. Not-Gregor holds her steady for a moment more. His hands are wrapped high up on her back, the heels of them brushing the curve of her breast. He shouldn't be touching those. No one but Gregor gets to touch her there ever again. She tries to step back. The hands move to her upper arms, stopping her.

"Easy. Can you walk? Take two steps for me, c'mon."

She does, because it's important to do what this man who looks like Gregor but isn't says. She focuses on that thought and slowly; clarity begins to surface. It's unbearably cold all of a sudden and she's shivering violently. The shivering hurts. She's making tiny, pathetic sounds through her chattering teeth. Not-Gregor, Kom'rk his name is Kom'rk, steps back from her for a moment and pulls off his black coat. He wraps it around her bare shoulders. It's like a floor length robe on her but it's warm and smells nice; a bit familiar. She pulls the fabric and leather close. He's still looking at her, concerned. She takes a deep breath and looks back at him.

"I can walk. Let's get the _fek_ out of here, please."

"You read my mind." He says with a relieved grin. He grabs his helmet, pulls it back on, and stoops down to sling her arm over his shoulders.

Despite her hopeful pronouncements she still needs to lean heavily on him to move. It's awkward. She's on his left side because he's got to hold on to her up near her chest thanks to her ribs. Every time her hip brushes his she has an involuntary jerk as the pain spikes. But they're making it. One step at a time up the gloomy hallway toward the stairs. They're less than three meters away when a horrible, gurgling scream erupts from behind them.

Kom'rk lets go of her and spins toward the sound, twin blasters materializing in his hands. Thena can't keep her legs under her without help and hits the floor, hard. But the pain is eclipsed by pure, hard terror when she catches sight of the thing at the end of the hall.

It's Uthull. His lower jaw's been shot away and several of his limbs appear to be attached wrong. They're too long, too sinuous to be human. Uthull is roaring wordlessly, spittle and blood pouring down his ruined face. The sound is like a rancor and an overheated engine on the verge of an explosion and a man's dying scream all mixed together. Thena's frozen to the spot in horror. Kom'rk though doesn't hesitate. He opens up with both blasters, searing chunks of flesh off Uthull's chest with a flurry of shots. Uthull collapses.

"What the-what is he?" She screams, trying to drag herself away from the horror.

"Gen-Dai body mods I think. _Fierfek_ I thought those were banned." Kom'rk spits, voice thick with disgust.

At the end of the hall the wet ribbons of Utull are starting to twitch.

"Thena go, get to the stairs." Kom'rk orders, not turning to look at her. To impose his order he starts backing up, forcing her to move or be stepped on. She can't push herself up and crawling with one good hand is maddening but she drags herself on. The stairs are a meter away now when Kom'rk swears. She stops to look.

Uthull is, impossibly, back on his feet. His chest and arms are a writhing nest of cable like tendons. There's a wet rasp bubbling out of his ruined throat that Thena realizes is laughter. Kom'rk raises the blasters again but before he can get a shot off Uthull's arm shoots out on the tentacles of sinew and muscle fiber. It catches Kom'rk across the midsection, screeching along his chest armor. He stumbles and falls to one knee, grabbing at the appendage. It twists in his grip and stabs out for the unprotected under-arm joint. Kom'rk shouts, Thena can't tell if it's in anger or pain or both, and hurls himself away from the arm. He lands on her legs. Ignoring her pained cry he grabs her good arm and starts to drag her toward the stairs.

She manages to get partially to her feet, adrenaline lending her strength. Together they scramble for the stairs. Thena doesn't turn but she can hear the meaty swish and clack of Uthull preparing another attack. But Kom'rk's under the blast door, he's reaching for the control panel to seal it with the monster on the other side. Then Thena feels something slither up her right arm. She looks down and screams as Uthull's 'arm' rips away the bandage and bacta pack and plunges into the wound. She collapses, shrieking hysterically.

Kom'rk lunges at the tentacle, hacking at it with a knife. It's grip slackens for a moment. Thena hurls herself backwards, desperately trying to get through the door. Kom'rk grabs her shoulders and pulls too. Uthull comes slithering up the hallway, still laughing and spluttering. His other arm lashes toward Kom'rk. The Null blasts it away with his remaining gun. Uthull still has Thena's injured arm. It's the only part of her not clear of the blast door. Kom'rk takes aim at the writing fibers on her arm as she wraps her other hand around the base of the stair railing, desperately fighting to stay out of that dark hallway.

"Shoot the panel." She shouts at the Null. Kom'rk shakes his head.

"Do it!"

Uthull jerks her arm hard. She feels something tear inside it. Her grip on the banister is loosening. Kom'rk turns his blaster and fires into the control panel. The door slides down with a deceptively soft whoosh. She feels an unbearable pressure on her upper arm followed, mercifully, by nothing as her vision goes black.


	14. Chapter 14

I'm going to stop mistreating everyone soon, promise. I'll even do it in this chapter (which is a doosy in terms of the word count but I wanted to end it on a high note after the last three/four chapters.) I swear to you that it gets less harrowing in this chapter. In fact I think it's down right mushy by the end!

**Summary of Ch. 13:** Uthull tortures Thena for information. Kom'rk appears and shoots the bastard. He gets Thena up and they attempt an escape. Unfortunately, Uthull's been genetically modifying himself with Gen'Dai (does this speak to a latent hypocrisy in his racism/speciesim toward Thena? Yes, yes it does.) This means he's not dead and able to detach his limbs into revolting tentacle like appendages to attack Kom'rk and Thena (for visual see Durge in the 1st Clone Wars cartoon circa 2003). Kom'rk attempts to stop him but even Null level badassery proves insufficient. He and Thena run for it but not before Uthull grabs Thena's arm with a tentacle/hand. Thena makes Kom'rk close the blast door on the arm, severing it.

* * *

There's blood everywhere. The bottom of the steps are slick with it. It rests in quivering puddles at the base of the stairwell. Kom'rk's slumped against the wall opposite the control panel for the blast door. The underlayer of his armor is shiny-wet with his blood. When his helmet comes off he's barely conscious, coughing weakly and aspirating red all down his chin.

Thena isn't moving at all. She's curled in a ball around her horrifically truncated right arm. Her skin is the dirty grey color of old snow, punctuated by streaks of deep maroon where her purplish blood has mixed with Kom'rk's. Her hair is damp with it. She's still partly wrapped Kom'rk's duster which drips when Gregor picks her up. She doesn't respond, no eye movement, no pulse. Her body's cold in his arms. His heart is cold in his chest.

He'd ground Arricnak's speeder to a halt at the coordinates Kom'rk had sent seconds after Prudii touched down. They run into the derelict testing center side by side, neither speaking. There are two bodies along the hall. Both in black fatigues, both taken by twin shots to the chest and third to the head. Kom'rk's signature. There is one open door containing another black fatigued corpse and the badly beaten but still conscious Rassilion Livvet. Gregor almost shoots him before Prudii grabs his elbow.

"We need him _ner vod_."

Gregor tries to wrest his arm out of the Null's grip. Prudii doesn't budge.

"We're wasting time." The Null reasons. Gregor stands down.

"He goes with Mereel. Not with us." Gregor snarls. Prudii nods.

Then they're running again, to the end of the hall, following the trace smell of discharged blasters, ozone and seared flesh. When they get to the stairs it's impossible to see the bottom, even with enhanced HUD capabilities. There's a pall of foul smell smoke hanging at the bottom. Prudii leads, forcing Gregor to move deliberately rather than race headlong to the bottom like he wants to.

He's seen some terrible things on the battlefield. Some so bad they drove him insane, forced him to forget everything down to who he was. Prudii's probably seen nearly as bad and maybe worse. The scene at the bottom of the stairs still gives them pause. It's the blood, the positive lake of blood and the low, insistent banging coming from the other side of the sealed blast door that sticks in Gregor's brain.

Prudii heads straight for Kom'rk; Gregor for Thena. Kom'rk isn't coherent and, judging by the wet sucking noise that's passing for his breathing his lung is collapsing. He and Thena need to be in full bacta immersion immediately. There's no time to guess at what's behind the door or worry about the trail of dead they're leaving in their wake. Prudii slings Kom'rk over his back and Gregor lifts Thena. As he follows the Null back to the commandeered Republic pinace he prays to whatever entity in the universe that might be listening.

* * *

Gregor wakes with a start, still seeing Kom'rk and Thena lying lifeless in a lake of blood. The air in the room's clammy and hot. He struggles out of the sweat soaked sheets and stumbles to the aircon unit, turning it all the way up and letting the barely cool air dry the sweat on his torso. The chrono on the crate next to his cot read 0300. The light from outside was the same artifical blue glow accented by semi-regular neon pulses as it was at 1500. Such were the underlevels of the massive, capital planet-city.

He doesn't bother putting on a shirt when he exited the room. There's hardly anyone here to be scandalized by him wandering the halls in nothing but a pair of loose pants. All the biologic staff are gone until what passes for dawn and there's only about half a dozen anyway. Travel to triple zero was heavily restricted these days. Mostly he runs into maintenance and lower caste med-droids.

He pushes open the door to the observation ward, as it's been dubbed, and takes a moment. Thena's curled up on the bed nearest the busted holo-mural. It flashes a little as it shifts between scenes of tropical beaches and rolling, forested hills. Those are the only images in it repertoire anymore but no one complains. The alternative is more unrelieved, custard colored slagcrete wall. She's alone on the ward. Kom'rk was here until last week but he finally got too cantankerous and was declared healthy by the Doc and thrown out.

Gregor slips down the line of five empty beds to stand next to hers. After a moment she stirs, rolls over and opens her eyes. With a soft smile she raises one arm. He slips under the sheet, pulling her close. She seems hollow boned in his arms, light as air. He has to suppress the urge to crush her to his chest just to make sure she doesn't float off. The Doc had ordered her hair clipped down almost to the scalp to remove the need to clean it during her recovery. It's growing back silvery white, giving her skull a sort of ethereal glow in the shifting light of the mural. He, by contrast, has grown almost as shaggy as he had been on Abafar in the past seven weeks.

He's careful not to brush too hard against the bluish whorls across her ribs. They're healed but Thena's shy about letting anyone but the Doc touch them much. She sighs softly and rests her head on his chest.

"The Doc'll throw things at you he finds you in here again." She says, but makes no move to push him out of bed.

"I'm a highly trained black-operations specialist. I think I can dodge one angry Verpine."

She huffs out a chuckle. There's no other sound on the ward but their breathing for a long time after that. Thena dozes against him as he gently strokes her new, cybernetic arm. There hadn't been a synthflesh model available here in 487 Sector. Most of the residents in what they informally called the Invisible Sector were non-human. Most synthflesh cybernetics, at least on Coruscant, were designed with wealthier human patrons in mind. So the arm was faced with a rosy-gold alloy, but it was all top of the line, fully as functional as the original limb the Doc had assured them.

Thena had pronounced herself perfectly happy with it when she'd woken up but Gregor's caught her stroking it sadly several times. She refuses to tell him if it's out of disappointment with the appearance of the limb or leftover trauma from her experiences on Kirvella. He suspects the later. It's like she wants to stay marked for some reason. Like how she's refused any kind of scar tissue removal or grafts on the marks Uthull gave her.

"Maybe we'll finally piss the Doc off enough to declare me cured." Thena says. Gregor hums non-comittally as he traces each of her metal fingers.

"You feel up to leaving?" He finally asks. She shrugs.

"I guess. It's weirdly lonely without Kom'rk and Jaing causing a riot every ten minutes. "

"At least you have air-con in here. The unit in mine's older than half the buildings in this sector. I think it's terminal, poor thing."

He feels her smile against his chest.

"Yeah, but I can barely sleep anymore. I'm used to all the company." He feels more than hears her whisper.

* * *

Both Jaing and Gregor had slept in chairs on the ward for the first week until it was certain that both Kom'rk and Thena were out of danger. Even after they'd worn out the patience of the Doc and his droid staff they stayed. Thena and Kom'rk both had nightmares that seemed to worsen as their bodies recovered.

Gregor had taken to sleeping perched on the edge of her bed as direct contact seemed to calm her. Though her thrashing often meant he woke up in the midst of a fall to the floor. Jaing had attempted something similar with Kom'rk, though the two Nulls couldn't begin to fit onto one, narrow cot. Instead he slept bent over in a chair, his head against his brother's chest. The problem was, while Kom'rk seemed able to tolerate Jaing next to him, he tended to lash out violently should anyone try to touch him after he'd fallen asleep. More than once Gregor had been thrown to the ground when he tried to shake the Null awake. Both patients adamantly refused to be sedated though, even when the Doc observed that their lack of rest was hindering their recovery.

It had been Prudii who'd suggested the solution. He'd been drifting in and out of the underground clinic ever since he'd dropped them off. One particularly bad night he'd suggested they try a trick the Nulls had used on Kamino when there were storms. Kom'rk and Jaing had both immediately agreed. Thena had been exhaustedly willing to try anything, though Gregor was skeptical.

But it had worked. Prudii and Jaing had pulled Thena and Kom'rk's pallets onto the floor and instructed Gregor to grab a third from an unoccupied bed. Shoving the empty frames out of the way the two healthy Nulls proceeded to make a sort of nest in the far corner of the room. Then Jaing lay down, back to the wall. Kom'rk gingerly flopped down beside him and beckoned Thena. She'd hesitated until Gregor took her hand and laid down with her. She'd tucked herself into his chest, back to Kom'rk. Prudii had settled on the edge of the pile, laying politely on his back next to Gregor, arms crossed over his chest.

The Nulls had all dropped off almost instantly, clearly finding this sort of arrangement comforting. Thena wasn't long behind them. She was probably too tired to worry about whether or not this joint-sleeping seemed strange. Gregor had lain awake for a long time listening to the steady breathing of the group around him. He wasn't used to being so close to this many people anymore but there was a ghostly ache that told him this had once been much more normal. He couldn't remember but this felt good, this closeness. Even with Thena here he felt like part of a larger unit, felt like he had brothers at last. He'd kept himself up most of the night savoring the sensation.

The Doc had nearly blown an ostia when he'd seen what they'd done to his ward in the morning. But he'd calmed himself when the ward-droid reported that the patients had had 32% fewer disturbances during their dormant period due to the unorthodox sleeping arrangements. Though he insisted they put the pallets back on the bed each morning he'd said nothing else when they did it again the next night. For the next five weeks Gregor had slept tangled up with Thena, Kom'rk, Jaing and Prudii whenever he dropped in. No one had had nightmares.

* * *

But Kom'rk's gone as of 0730 eight days ago and Jaing with him. Prudii hadn't been around since their departure either. They're on their own again.

She stretches a little beside him. He's suddenly accutely aware of the fact that they're both wearing nothing but thin scrubs. It's been almost eight weeks since he's even let himself think about her sexually. But she's fully healed now, physically, and no matter what his brain tells his body he wants her.

"Well, there are benefits to not having two to three people on our _shebs_." He whispers, pressing his mouth to her collarbone. She squirms a little as his tongue traces lazy circles over her skin. Every now and then he pauses to suck on the skin gently. She gasps when he bites her lightly then starts coughing. He stops, libido instantly doused.

"_Osik_, I'm sorry _Ten'ika_ I didn't mean to push."

She waves her hand at him but keeps coughing for another four seconds.

"No, it's the air down here. Just like on Nar Shadda. Just the haze-lung."

"Do you think you're ready to get out of here?" He asks, voice serious.

He can tell by the way she doesn't meet his eyes that she understood the meaning under the question. Prudii'd dropped them here almost two months ago. The Doc, if he had another name he wasn't sharing it, was an old Verpine who apparently owed the Null some favors. Prudii hadn't wanted to use the Republic facilities after what happened. Gregor had been more than dubious at first but the little clinic was surprisingly advanced and, probably thanks to people like Prudii, the Doc had plenty of high tech, if legally suspect, equipment to work with.

Despite the nerve damage and the trauma of losing a limb Thena had seemed to be healing remarkably well. In two weeks of arrival she had a shiny new limb and fully rebuilt neural pathways. Then her recover slowed to a crawl. It's been taking her a long time to get used to the arm, or so she say. But Gregor had seen her use it almost as dexterously as her left hand five days after the implant. And then there were the scars that she sometimes runs her hands over and over when she thinks no one's watching. She's fully healed, physically, but she's afraid to admit.

He waits, silent. She shifts on the mattress, rolls onto her back and then sits up, legs hanging off the edge of the cot. He doesn't try to follow her or limit her motion. He sits up too when she stands and begins to pace, running her new hand over her fuzzy hair.

"Where would we go?" She asks, still stalking back and forth between the beds.

He shrugs.

"Where ever we want. Do you have somewhere in mind?"

" Mi's not back. And I want _Simli_ not one of those stolen crates your boys are always turning up with." She continues, as though he's accused her of something.

"Okay, but we may need the Null's help getting Mi and _Simli_ here. Or getting us to them. What about if I com them in a few hours? See what's possible."

"No!"

He breathes out, slowly. Then in again, fighting not to let his frustration show. She's not like him. She wasn't trained to process the ugly realities of the galaxy at war the way he was. Older though she might be in years she was still young in the galactic scheme of things.

"Thena please, what do you want?"

She sinks down in the corner where their collective bed had been, arms wrapped tight around her knees. He rises and goes to her.

"Don't. Please don't. I can't think straight when you touch me." She whispers. Her words hit him like a punch, freezing him standing in front of her. She buries her face in her arms and gasps softly, breaking his heart. But he doesn't move. She'd locked him in place with her 'please.' He can speak though.

"Thena I'm sorry. I'm sorry this happened, I never meant...Please, tell me something, anything. I-I can't take this anymore, you hurting and not talking to me."

She wraps her arms tighter around her knees and shakes. He feels like his chest will tear open with the pain of it. He wants to tear it open if only it would make her stop, if only it would bring some shadow of his Thena back rather than this wounded, timid girl who seems likely to shatter at any moment.

"Where are we gonna go Gregor?" She says finally, so softly he could barely hear her. "If we go back out to the Outer Rim Hann'e wants me skinned for losing his shipment. And the Republic did this," she takes in her arm and ribs with one swift motion of her left hand. "Where do we go that's safe, huh?"

"Life's not a safe place, _Ten'ika_."

"That can't be true. There's got to be somewhere that's safe and good. Where people don't get killed or tortured or whored out. I mean what the _kriff_ is the point if there isn't?"

"I...I don't know _Ten'ika_. I'm just a soldier-just a man trying to make my way."

"Why? Why try if we're never going to be safe? I'm tired of being scared but what else can I be?"

"Being scared doesn't mean you just give up. I'm scared most of the time."

She makes an incredulous noise.

"I am. Mostly, whenever I'm not fighting. I'm scared that I'm not good enough at whatever it is I'm doing, that I'm too ignorant or not observant enough. I'm scared that I still can't really remember the first half of my life. I'm scared of what might happen if I do remember it. I'm scared of the Nulls and of other clones because I'm scared I'm defective. And I'm dying, twice as fast as you are. And I think I love you but I have no idea if you feel anything like that for me, or even if what I feel is love because I don't know anything about anything except for where to place a kill shot."

She's raised her head and is staring at him, lips slightly parted like she's about to speak. He barrels on, not sure if he'll have the fortitude to make his point if she objects.

"But I keep going, even though I'm scared. Because the alternative is...well there isn't one. No one can hide forever, even if you want to."

She keeps stares at him for a long moment, then says something so quietly he can't make it out.

"What?"

"I love you too."

He sways a little on his feet.

"Oh." He hadn't realized he'd said that last bit out loud.

He stumbles to the wall and sits down next to her, still maintaining a careful half meter or so of distance so she doesn't feel imposed upon. He wonders if this is what telling someone you love them is supposed to feel like. On holo-dramas there's always lots of kissing and happy crying. He feels a little like he's going to vomit and Thena's still curled into a seated ball.

She turns her head to look at him.

"Are you alright?"

"Er, yes? I don't know."

She uncurls enough to scoot closer to him. She raises a hand, hesitates, then brushes it gently through his hair. He closes his eyes for a moment to savor the sensation.

"You look kind of pale." She whispers.

"I feel kind of...pale. I guess. That wasn't really what I was expecting you to say."

"What'd you want me to say?" She asks. He can hear the ghost of a smile in her voice. He looks at her.

"That you're not going to just give up and hide in some subsector clinic because you got hurt...because I got you hurt. That you'll go live your life even though nothing and nowhere's really safe."

"That's what you want?"

"Yes, and maybe for you to let me touch you because I think I need to right now."

The left side of her mouth twitches upward momentarily. She nudges him a little until he's positioned in such a way that she can crawl into his lap. He wraps his arms around her and squeezes, pressing his face into the soft space between her neck and shoulder. She sighs, relaxes against him and goes back to stroking his hair.

"So big, bad Gregor gets scared."

"Every day. You don't know the half of it."

"And you want me to go out and live, even though I'm scared all the time."

"I don't want you to be scared all the time. I just want you not to be like this. Not to hide out like this."

"And you love me, or you think you love me."

He swallows hard.

"Yes. I love you."

Her hands slide down to cup his chin, lifting his head up so she can kiss him. He hesitates, torn between his desire to crush her against him and not wanting to make her feel trapped and restrained. Her mouth moves over his more confidently, her fingers threading into the hair behind his ears. He groans and opens his mouth for her. Her tongue brushes against his lower lip tentatively before sliding deeper to stroke his. He can't stop himself from reaching up to cradle her head, fingers playing over her shorn scalp. He kisses her back now, lapping at her tongue, following it back into her mouth only to coax it out again. She gasps and wriggles a little in his lap. He breaks off, winded and presses his forehead against hers.

"I love you too." She whispers again.

He laughs, still breathless.

"And you'll think about leaving? I can asks Jaing to go get Mi and _Simli_?"

"Yeah."

He grins and kisses her again, quickly because if they keep it up he's either going to have sex with her on the floor or embarrass himself utterly.

"Will you stay?" She asks. His stomach does another somersault, this time not a happy one. He drops his hands to his sides.

"What?"

"Will you stay, with me? Once Mi comes back with _Simli_."

He can't speak. She's watching him. She gives a bleak little nod and starts to chew her lip.

"So, no. You won't." She says softly. His stomach contracts painfully.

"No, not won't. I-I don't know if I can."

She closes her eyes for a moment. When she opens them they're still black pools.

"Because you're still in their army. The _Grand_ Army of the _Republic_." Her cybernetic hand twitches as she all but spits the words out.

"Yes. But it isn't COMPOR. It isn't."

"Let me up."

"Thena please."

"Let me up." Her voice sharp with anger. He lets her clamber awkwardly to her feet.

"I can't turn my back on them. It's what I am." He says, trying to make her understand

"No. It isn't. But I understand now. You're afraid to see the truth, to see what _they_ really are."

"Now you're a Sep?" He asks angrily.

"No. But I'm starting to have a hard time telling one set of bad guys from the other one."

"You're upset, you're seeing this all wrong."

"Am I? What made you forget everything Gregor? What made you run away from the army? I kind of don't think it was the violence, do you? I think you saw something or realized something about the stinking Republic. That for all the talk of unity and equality they throw you and all those men like you away. They do this."

She lifts up her shirt with her cybernetic arm, showing her scars.

"And they get away with it. I think you saw that and it made you run."

"Stop it." He growls.

"Why can't you see it now? Why didn't we go to a Republic facility Gregor? Why was I, why was Kom'rk, a soldier in this army of yours, treated in an illegal clinic in a xeno district?"

Gregor springs to his feet, face to face with Thena. Or rather face to chest in her case because he towers over her. She doesn't back down though.

"I love you Gregor but I cannot watch you walk back into that war and say nothing. You want me to live, to be brave. Fine. I'll do it. But if you go back don't look for me. I won't be waiting for you."

He staggers and sits heavily on one of the cots.

"Don't do this. Don't ask me to choose. I can't. Please, Thena please don't."

Thena takes a shaky breath, and opens her mouth to speak. There's a cough from the doorway of the ward. Both turn towards the sound. Prudii, in full Null Arc rig, is standing in the doorway, shifting uncomfortably from foot to foot.

"Not to interrupt." He says "But I may have a solution."

* * *

"Here, read this." Prudii thrust a pad at Gregor and stepped quickly back.

They 're cloistered in the room the Doc used as an office, the only room in the place with a lock on the door. Prudii'd insisted they not have this discussion in the ward. He'd also insisted Thena come along, though he hadn't looked directly at her yet.

Gregor scans the pad rapidly, his features, already grave in the wake of his argument with Thena darken. He looks up at Prudii accusingly.

"And what in the ever-loving _shab_ is this?" He asks, throwing the pad down.

"Intercepted orders for a shadow trooper, interdiction assignment."

Gregor suddenly bares his teeth and lunges at the Null. Prudii's fully armored, except for the helmet that he's set down on the bench next to Thena. Gregor's still wearing a pair of old scrub pants, and nothing else. Prudii's also got him on weight by more than a stone.

Gregor swings for the Null's unprotected face, connecting hard enough to make Prudii stagger. He aims a rapid second blow toward the other clone's eyes. Prudii blocks that one and grabs Gregor by the shoulders, shoving him. Gregor snarls and tries to dig his hands under Prudii's chest plate. The Null punches him in the stomach, doubling him over.

"Gregor calm down!" Prudii shouts. He leans close to see if he's hurt him. Gregor takes the opportunity to headbutt the other clone. Now it's Prudii's turn to snarl and lunge at Gregor with a wild right hook. It doesn't connect. Instead Prudii stumbles two steps backwards and nearly trips over the Doc's desk chair.

Prudii stares at Thena, clearly shocked that she's grabbed his pauldron in her cybernetic hand and pulled him off Gregor. Before he can recover Thena leaps between the two clones. She puts her back to Gregor and pushes him away from Prudii. As angry as he is with both Thena and the Null he lets her force him back. Prudii stands, a little splay-legged from the blows to his face, watching them warily.

"Stop it." Thena hisses "What in every hell is going on?"

"You were right." Gregor answers in a desolate voice. "You were right _cyar'ika_, it's rotten to the core."

"What's rotten?" She asks him, still keeping an eye on Prudii as the Null examines his face with his fingers; searching for permanent damage.

"The Army, the whole damn Republic." Gregor spits.

"Half right _vod_." Mutters Prudii.

Thena huffs a breath through her nose.

"Alright, that's it. You," she points at Gregor. "Sit there," she points to the bench. "And you," she snaps at Prudii, " put your ass in that chair and you explain yourself, clearly, without any useless _feking_ witticism."

Both clones do as their told, though Prudii looks mutinous. Thena reaches for Gregor's stomach to check the bruise that's already forming but he pushes her hand away. She grimaces and sits down, leaving Prudii's helmet between them.

The Null's watching all of this with an inscrutable expression. Thena glowers at him.

"Go on, talk." She says waspishly. Prudii sighs and leans back, chair creaking under his weight.

"I'm sorry. _Ni ceta._ For what happened." He begins. Gregor inhales sharply. Thena looks at him, then back at Prudii. The Null continues.

"You want me to get down on the floor and lick your boots I will. I want you to know that. It's been eating me alive ever since I left you in that apartment." He looks directly at Thena.

"You too, _vod'ika._ I thought it was just going to be an observation job, maybe a cosh and carry. I hadn't realized what they'd come to."

"Why are saying this? What's it got to do with that _etyc_ excuse for a mission you just handed me?" Gregor asks, voice still tight with anger.

Prudii hangs his head briefly and rubs his temples.

"Let me tell you about the last one first. Everything I didn't before." He says when he looks up.

Gregor settles back on the bench, arms crossed over his chest; letting the silence turn stony as he waits. Thena looks at him sideways but makes no attempt to touch him. Prudii speaks, voice a little hoarse and eyes over bright.

"We knew about COMPOR." Thena gives a strangled gasp and grips the edge of the bench so hard the servos in her new hand whine. Prudii presses his lips together hard for a moment, then continues.

"We knew they were there but we didn't think they were a threat. They're mouthy bastards but never, never until now have they even hinted at being more than a bunch of talkers. This paramilitary arm...we never saw it coming."

"Why the _shab _didn't you say something about them, even if you didn't know about the strongarms?" Gregor mutters through clenched teeth.

"Because we wanted to know more about them. There was a wave from Kirvella back here to the core about whether there were any military ops on the planet from Arricnak."

"You didn't intercept it?"

"We only saw it when the response hit his code."

"So the mission was compromised from the start. And you just let us keep going?"

"We didn't know about the muscle. I was trying to trace Arricnak's signal and you were doing everything right. Ordo and Mereel were working on finding-on something else along with Jaing. Kom'rk was still trailing Grievous and A'den...we'll get to him later."

"Did you find out the signal?" Thena asks.

"I did. Just before they moved in against your op, that's when I realized what an awful _shabla_ mess we'd dumped you in. I was already en route when you waved the distress beacon."

"So you _kriffed_ up and we-and Thena, paid for it. You lied to me about that mission from the start and now you want me to go murder another clone for the Republic? Well I won't. I'm done. "

"I don't want you to murder anybody. I swear." Prudii says raggedly. Gregor scoffs. Thena reaches for him hesitantly. He grabs her hand, her flesh and blood hand, in both of his and holds it tight.

"I was ready to walk away from this, from her, for you. Because we were brothers fighting for a good cause. I wanted to be a part of that because all I remember is blood and dead men. I wanted that to mean something. But it doesn't, does it? The Republic is just as bad as the Seps. They kill just as brutally. We're dying for nothing."

"You're right, the Republic is just as bad as the Seps." Prudii says. Gregor shakes his head, tears in his eyes.

"Then why are we fighting for them? Because they own us?"

"We're not fighting for them anymore."

Gregor barks an awful, mirthless laugh and motions to Prudii's armor.

"Could have fooled me, _brother_."

Prudii closes his eyes for a long moment, as though that will block out the pain of the insult. His eyes are wet too when he looks between Gregor and Thena.

"I can't make what happened right. I can't fix the mistakes I made. I would. I would tear off my arm and carve my flesh if it would make you whole. This mission though, it's the start to my atonement. I don't want you to kill this clone. I want you to find him and keep him alive. I want you to make him the same offer I'm about to make you."

"What offer?" Thena asks.

"We all deserve a chance to make our own choices. To be free and whole. Gregor if you want out you've got it. You don't even have to accept this next mission. There's a place we're building on Mandalore, or if you don't want that I can give you as many creds as you need to start over anywhere else."

"Then why'd you even ask me to hunt down this clone?"

"Because he ran. Because there's hit squads, clone hit squads, being sent out after other clones. A'den and another commando squad ran into them a few weeks ago. We want to, we _need,_ to know why. We need to know who's sanctioning it because the authority on these squads seems to be coming down from the very top."

"But you said you wanted to help this other clone run." Says Thena.

"We do. But if you take this mission, if you pose as the assassin then maybe we find another link in the _shabla_ chain. We get one step closer to stopping them."

"Who's them?" Thena asks, "Separatist moles, who?"

"We don't know yet, maybe. The Jedi have been going on about some Sith Lord who may have tentacles sunk into the Senate."

"What's a Sith Lord?" Gregor says.

"Like a Jedi, but...evil I guess. There's supposed to be one in charge of the Seps."

"And this same one may be corrupting Senators? Or maybe the Jedi even?"

"Possibly."

"And you can't find out unless we start tracking these strange sub-intel operations." Gregor mutters, sounding resigned.

"Exactly, you in?"

"Hold up there hot shot." Snaps Thena "Why Gregor? You said he could get out if he wanted. Why don't one of you lot do it?"

"Because Gregor doesn't exist. He's already dead." Prudii tells her. "We're a known quantity. We can slice any system you want but we need to know where to look and right now we're in the dark."

Gregor's still holding Thena's hand. He looks at her, dark eyes serious. She bites her lips and then huffs a sigh.

"One more and you're out, you promise me." She whispers.

"I'll give you one better." Prudii interjects. They turn toward him.

"I think should both take this one. Use Thena's ship, scout out a place if you don't want to come to Mandalore."

"Really?" Gregor asks.

"Yes, really. You did a damn fine job on Kirvella. We've cracked the entire network back to Murkhanna thanks to you two. You're good together. "

Thena cocks an eyebrow at the Null.

"Is this part of the atonement? Playing relationship councilor?"

"Maybe. Actually I didn't realize I was going to have to try. I was in the bag for you two getting married until I turned up this morning."

Thena snorts.

"You going to give us time to plan a wedding before we go racing off after your fugitive?"

Gregor clears his throat, hesitantly.

"Mandalorians don't really need much time to plan weddings." He tells her.

"What does that mean? Do they just bash the marriage prospect over the head and carry them back to the cave?"

Prudii snorts. Gregor rubs the back of his skull before continuing.

"Not quite _cyar'ika_. We just make a vow to each other. Nobody needs to get dressed up or go to a temple or anything."

"You just say some words and that's it?"

"It's the bond that's important, the _riduuork. _The words make it official, legal really, for public knowledge."

She stares at him silently for several moments.

"Is this your idea of a marriage proposal?" She asks, voice incredulous, but not, he hopes, angry.

"Well, no. I wasn't planning on this. I mean I wanted to ask but half an hour ago I was convinced you were leaving me."

"I can go get you a ring if you want-" Prudii adds.

"Shut up." Thena hisses at him over her shoulder. She looks back at Gregor.

"Do you really want to get married? Really? Not just because he," she jerks her chin in the Null's direction, "mentioned it?"

Gregor takes a deep breath.

"I'm not gonna live as long as you are. I already told you how that scares me. I don't want to leave you hurting if I can help it but I also don't want to give up on this thing between us. Yes. I want to marry you. Even if we only get a few more years."

Thena makes an odd noise, somewhere between a laugh and a sob.

"How could I turn that down? Yes, Gregor. I'll marry you. I love you and I'll love you for every minute of the rest of your life."

He grins at her, tearing up as he does so.

"Will you do it right now?"

"What here?" She says, voice cracking in disbelief.

"Yeah. Why not?"

"Well, I guess I didn't think you could get married in a black-market doctor's office. And Mi'll be pissed she wasn't here. And I thought maybe we'd be dressed. But okay, sure. What are these words we're supposed to say? Do we stand up, hold hands?"

Gregor glances at Prudii.

"Whatever you want _ad'ika_." He says with a grin. Gregor stands and offers Thena his hands. She stands, tugs at the wrinkled blue scrubs she's wearing, and clasps them. Gregor glances guiltily at Prudii.

"I can't remember all of them."

The Null's grin looks ready to split his face in two.

"Nerves I expect." He stands up too "I'll play officiate shall I? Okay kids, repeat after me. _Mhi solus tome, mhi solus dar'tome, mhi me'dinui an, mhi ba'juri verde." _

They echo him, voices blending together. At the end Prudii claps.

"What did I just say?" Thena whispers to Gregor. He looks down at her, feeling a grin on his face wider than Prudii's.

"We are one when we are together. We are one when we are apart. We share all things. We will raise warriors."

"Oh. " Thena sniffs a little and blushes. Her voice comes out hoarse when she speaks again.

"Why'd you have to go and be all romantic?"

"_Kandosii_, very smooth Gregor." Prudii chuckles. "Now kiss."

They do. Gregor picks Thena up off the ground slightly in his enthusiasm. She laughs into his mouth. Suddenly he pulls back, looking alarmed.

"_Ten'ika_ you're crying."

"Yeah, I might have talked the Doc into some other upgrades. I always wondered what it was like." She mutters, swiping at her eyes. "Stings a little."

Now Gregor laughs and kisses her again. Prudii's still tittering when they break apart.

"You're sweet you two, makes my old heart glad."

"You're about a year older than me." Gregor mutters, holding onto Thena's waist and unable to stop smiling.

"Makes all the difference to a clone, although, maybe not forever."

"Are you still here Prudii?" Thena grouses.

"I am. With a wedding gift, of the postdated variety sadly but..."

"Less rambling, more leaving." Thena says, mouth partially over Gregor's

"You know that tiny problem where we're all, clones that is, going to die of premature aging?"

"_Kriff_ off Prudii, right now you want to talk about that, really? Can we have a day?" Thena snaps, heels hitting the floor as she steps away from Gregor. He makes a half hearted grab for her arm to keep her away from the Null. Prudii's smile gets bigger and more sly.

"Yes. I have to talk about it today. Because we're gonna fix it. We've got the _kaminisii_ scientist who did this to us and we're going to make her tell us how to stop it. Everybody gets a full life."

"We, the army?" Gregor asks after a moment of nonplussed silence.

"We the Nulls. We the _aliit_."

Gregor's staring with his mouth open. Prudii's clearly waiting for congratulations of his own. Thena slips away from Gregor and slaps him instead. The Null shakes his head, rubbing his cheek.

"What the_ shab_ you crazy-"

Then she throws her arms around his neck and hugs him. He stands for a moment, then smirks, shrugs and hugs her back.

"Why do you people always have to be so _kriffing_ dramatic about everything?" She sobs into his shoulder. "You could have just told us."

"When? How?" Gregor wheezes, still in shock at the revelation.

"As soon as we can. And I don't know how, that _schutta_ cloner's gonna tell us."

Gregor staggers to the bench and sits down, dropping his head to his knees. Prudii laughs and gives Thena and affectionate squeeze.

"You've my word _ner vode_, as soon as we've got the cure I'll wave you. I'll deliver it myself."

"Yeah, okay. I...okay." Gregor mutters, clearly concentrating on breathing. He looks up after a moment.

"Hey Prudii, you want to let go of my wife so I can carry her back to my cave?"

Thena chokes on a laugh and steps away from the Null, face wet with new tears. Prudii gives her a gentle push toward the other clone.

"Anything you want _ad'ika_."

* * *

There we go. Things are okay. Our tribulations and trials weathered, happy ending earned. One more quick chapter though, because there's just one or two threads I want to make sure are tied off.


	15. Epilogue

This is it. We're all done. Thanks for reading along. I hoped you enjoyed it.

* * *

It was dark in the high spires of Coruscant, a curated night. Darkness was a luxury in the planet spanning city; carefully guarded by expensive screens and light dampening fields. Here, despite the soft rose glow pulsing from below, it was possible to see the stars glittering above the plaz spears of buildings taller than most mountains.

A man in the stiff, dark uniform of a Republic Naval officer stood facing a bank of massive windows in one of those buildings. He did not affect the need for a balcony so that he might stand in filtered, perfumed air and pretend the city smelled like a garden. He preferred the inhuman cool of artfully decorated interiors. The dry, sterile air was like the polished plaz in front of him, a powerful reminder of his separation from the heaving, sweaty, revolting disorder outside.

A light came on in the vestibule behind him. The man could see it reflected in the window. Someone was coming up from the private reception area two floors below to this almost inaccessible office. The light was triggered by the operation of the coded lift. The man stayed where he was. He had been expecting a visitor. The lift hummed to a stop, the doors slid open without a sound and his aide stepped out. His boots, shining like polished malab stone, were all but silent as he advanced across the deep blue carpet. The aide advanced exactly fifteen and a quarter paces and snapped to a stop. The man at the window fancied he could hear the click of the other's joints in the rich silence; a pleasant, precise sound. He turned around.

"Captain Tarkin," The aide opened, saluting crisply. Tarkin remained as he was. His aide continued.

"Report of the recovery effort from Kirvella sir." The aide extended a data pad toward him. Tarkin took it and thumbed it on.

"Summarize for me, Lieutenant Vance." Tarkin asked, skimming the contents of the pad.

"Sir. The operative has been recovered."

"Just the one?"

"Yes, sir. The other three were found dead at the interrogation site."

Tarkin sighed but motioned for the aide to continue.

"Uthull sir, was injured but is...recovering."

Tarkin smirked at the disconcerted hitch in the Lieutenant's voice. He looked up from the pad, agreeably aware of how the light from the screen emphasized the sharpness of his features.

"He's a disgusting thing, I know. All those unseemly surgeries, but useful when one requires a certain kind of blunt instrument. What about the Separatist cell?"

"Dismantled sir."

Tarkin heard the hesitation behind the answer.

"But Lieutenant?" He knew already, of course. He'd read it in the report, which he had actually received this afternoon, and had been informed of it by Arricnak before that. But he enjoyed the power that came from making someone else recount it to him, the discomfort they suffered knowing the news would be irritate him.

"But the suspects are being processed by GAR intelligence sir. They were captured by GAR operatives."

"What was the Army doing on Kirvella?' Tarkin asked. He knew this too but wanted to watch his aide squirm as though he had done something wrong.

"Running a separate covert operation sir."

"Why was it not halted, Lieutenant?"

"Because we were...unaware of it sir." Tarkin frowned, as though this were a new fact he was only now assimilating.

The real answer was that the clones had been allowed to continue because the Chief of Republic Intelligence wanted to know what they were up to. The Naval and civilian, for lack of a better word, security and intelligence services had become aware of certain operations being run off the books by clone personnel almost a year ago after a bank robbery in the midst of a battle on Mygeeto. It was impossible to tell how much the Jedi command knew of these activities, though Tarkin suspected it was next to nothing. So he and several like-minded colleagues had approached the Chancellor with their concerns.

The Chancellor had listened politely, asked several questions of his own and ended the meeting. Tarkin had been disappointed until he received a private summons to the Chancellor's office the next morning. Upon arriving he found one of the senior section heads of Republic Intelligence also waiting, also flattered and slightly bemused by the situation. Then the Chancellor had welcomed them into his private office, dismissed all of his staff and informed both men of the larger picture.

Tarkin had been stunned at first, dizzy with the audacity of what the seemingly frail old man before them had outlined. But, as Palpatine spoke, he began to see the truth of it, the unalloyed brilliance and the urgent necessity of the scheme. By the time the exquisite Anaxian dinner was brought in both Tarkin and the Intelligence officer were convinced of the Chancellor's course.

How cunning to fight a war using only proxies, alien scum and genetic flesh-droids who could barely be thought of as human at all, leaving valuable personnel untouched for the work to come. What an effective way to spread the fear necessary to remind the great unwashed why they must bow, and bow humbly, to the proper rulers of the galaxy. And the man was going to remove those troublesome wizards. Tarkin did not know how but, given the manner in which every other plan of the Chancelor's had come off successfully, he was serenely confident in the end game.

There had only been the occasional unexpected ripple in the smooth flow of progress. Like this one. Some clones, it seemed, had been given too much leeway by those imbecilic Jedi and were almost making themselves a nuisance to actual people.

He realized the aide was still babbling apologies and explanations.

"Is the COMPOR presence on Kirvella still viable?" Tarkin asked to stem the flow.

"I believe so sir. The clone operative, the main one, he did threaten the main COMPOR organizer and the man's second but we haven't heard anything from him since. It was mostly likely a bluff given that the man's wife had apparently been swept up mistakenly."

"Clone."

"I-I'm sorry sir?"

"Clone, not man. And the alien half-caste wasn't its wife. Clones are not permitted access to recreational sexual contact."

"Right sir, sorry sir. He, er, it identified the female as h-its wife."

"Do we have intelligence regarding the whereabouts of this clone?"

"No, sir. Not yet, that is. He was, I mean it, was reported as dead sir, killed in action on Sarrish."

"Clearly not the case."

"No, sir. It appears that this clone was found and reintegrated into GAR intelligence by the Null ARC units."

Tarkin felt himself smile at that statement. It really was rather clever, reactivating a supposedly dead asset. No paper trail, complete deniability if the operation is discovered or the asset killed. Wilhuf Tarkin was a proud man but not too proud to learn from his adversaries. He filed the idea of fully deniable, 'dead' agents away for later use.

"Where are the Null ARC units?"

"One is here on Coruscant, two are attempting to track the movements of Separatist military leaders in the outer rim. One is embedded on Mirial, awaiting extraction and we...can't account for the other two at this time sir."

Tarkin said nothing, letting the aide twist in the wind for a moment. He knew where the other two were. They were tracking the Kaminoan scientist along with the unit that was supposed to be on Coruscant and a pair of doddering Mandalorians. The Lieutenant did not need to know that however. Information was akin to power and Tarkin enjoyed controlling both. It was convenient to let people think they were free, let them get into trouble on their own. Or, as was the case here, let them inadvertently solve a problem for you.

"Would you like me to have the rogue clone unit tracked sir?"

"No, Lieutenant that won't be necessary."

The unit was already under surveillance of a decidedly unofficial variety. Under normal circumstances Tarkin might have simply had the nuisance eliminated but this clone was proving interestingly adaptable. There had already been two confirmed searches for information on COMPOR, the deceased bounty hunter Durge, and the industrial output of Kirvella. Both were carefully hidden, painstakingly masked through hundreds of other holonet addresses across a dozen planets. It had taken Tarkin's best people days to unravel everything. The sites of origin were eventually traced to two points on opposite sides of Coruscant itself, both deep in the sublevels.

Yesterday someone in RepIntel had discovered a seemingly harmless bit of scrap data during the monthly search of certain sensitive systems the like-minded officer had implemented after his discussion with Palpatine. There had been no evidence of malicious intent, the data didn't even seem to connect to any vital systems. It appeared to be a piece of a standard code-pack to track door usage on employee restrooms that had simply come unmoored in the river of digital instructions that ran the day to day systems at RepIntel.

The officer had handed the data over to Palpatine's trusted slicers immediately. Both he and Tarkin had agreed to share all anomalous information with the Chancellor, even seemingly harmless glitches. Because glitches were sometimes far from harmless. As this had been. Disguised under three subcoded layers was a window into the system files for all RepIntel Black and X-Black programs. The slicers still hadn't identified what had been accessed. But Tarkin could guess. He was confident that the rogue unit would have pulled all the files relating to genetic experimentation, COMPOR cells, and bounty hunter contracts at least. It may have taken more. Certainly this clone, and possibly, probably, the Null ARCs had access to more pieces of the puzzle of the Clone Wars than anyone else in the GAR now.

"But do you know what to do with it?"

"Sorry, sir?"

Tarkin grimaced inwardly, realizing he'd spoken.

"Do you have anything else to report?" He snapped to cover his slip-up.

The aide flinched.

"No, sir."

"Then I shall wish you a good night Lieutenant."

The aide saluted, relief clear on his soft, young face.

"Thank you, sir. Good night, sir." Tarkin did not look up from the pad until the light in the vestibule went out. Then he turned back to the window.

The pad sat face up on his desk, still lit and showing the page he had been reading during his aide's report. It was not the report the boy had summarized. But the aide didn't need to know that. He just needed to jump when Tarkin tells him too and not ask questions about what he was delivering to his master. The lad performed well tonight.

The contents of the pad were reflected in the plaz near Tarkin's hip. It was a frozen image of a pair of females, one green skinned, tall and sleek; the other small and frail looking, with a fuzz of almost invisible white hair, embracing fiercely. A male stood to one side, head cocked, watching the pair. There was a battered ship's hull visible behind them.

The picture was from yesterday evening. It depicted the reunion of the female half-caste and her xeno friend. The male was the rogue clone unit. Tarkin's operatives had found this on a security feed barely an hour after the trio got back onto the ship and left the planet. They were still in system when the information had been commed to him. They could have been stopped. But Tarkin let them go.

Because, deep down, he had begun to suspect that the clones may be more of a threat to the rising order than anyone has realized. He still could not think of them as human; but as fully, dangerously sentient certainly. The ARCs made him suspect first, both the Alpha and Null models he had encountered. But lately he'd been noticing flashes of insight in even ordinary troopers. And now this one had upset one of RepIntel's pet projects, with some help from the Null ARC units, but he seemed to have performed much of the important work on his own. He would have been totally invisible to the COMPOR group as well had Tarkin's people not fed them data. Not only that but he, not the ARC units since Tarkin has had all of their activities carefully tracked for months, had managed three highly sophisticated slices of Republic systems over the past three weeks. He'd accessed some of the most sensitive information stored on RepIntel's systems.

"But do you know what to do with it?" Tarkin repeated. He did not have an answer to his own quesition, it was a novel feeling.

He was inclined to let the clone run, to wait and see. After all, no matter how clever this clone might be one being would never be enough to stop the momentum of the Chancellor's schemes. At best a few cranks might heed a warning but they would all be easily crushed under the wheels of the new order. Still, it would be entertaining to watch what the unit might try. Smiling in earnest now, Tarkin turned, thumbed off the pad and walked toward the lift. The curated darkness of wealthy Coruscant reclaimed to suite as he left it.

* * *

THE END.

Be well everyone.


End file.
